


hear our doubts

by biblionerd07



Series: broad-shouldered beasts [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Canon-Typical Behavior, Eating Disorders, Food Issues, Future Fic, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Therapy, Trust, discussion of suicide, relationship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: Ian doesn't blame Mickey for needing time to trust him again. Mostly, he just blames himself, and he doesn't necessarily handle that healthily.





	hear our doubts

**Author's Note:**

> Another Ian POV! I did tag for this but I want to reiterate that this one deals with self-esteem, body image, and food issues, so please be careful if those are triggering for you. There is also some discussion of suicide, but not in the sense that anyone is contemplating it. This one is the longest one yet. I am partway through another piece and then I have at least two more planned so thank you for sticking around if you're still here!

Ian can’t sleep. It’s not a manic can’t sleep—he doesn’t think so, anyway, but sometimes it’s hard to see that coming when the meds are reigning it in, a fact that Mickey will rant about for hours if Ian lets him pick up steam. Ian’s pretty sure this is a normal not being able to sleep. Just one of those nights where he has too much on his mind and can’t stop thinking. He hates that he’s terrified when this happens. That happens to everyone from time to time. He knows that. Yet when it happens to him it adds another thing to keep him awake worrying about.

Yevgeny just hit another growth spurt and his shoes don’t fit anymore. Liam needs a new backpack because he got in _another_ fight and got blood all over the old one. Fiona’s got to pay the property tax on the house soon. Svetlana got fired after all, though they called it a layoff and gave her two weeks’ pay for severance. Shit’s piling up, and it leaves Ian anxious. He feels like his heart’s in his goddamn throat constantly.

Mickey makes a little grunting noise in his sleep and Ian watches him for a while. Watching Mickey sleep actually calms him down a bit. Mickey drools and scowls and farts in his sleep, but he’s sleeping. He’s not tossing and turning and sweating the way he does when he’s having nightmares. Ian presses closer to Mickey so he can feel his heart beating. He closes his eyes and lets the steady thumping slow his own heart.

Mickey still doesn’t have health insurance.

The thought makes Ian’s eyes fly open again. It’s the comforting sound of Mickey’s heart that reminds him of that, because what if someday that beating isn’t steady and sure anymore? It already isn’t when Mickey’s having panic attacks. That’s not easy on the heart. And with all the smoking and drinking and drugs Mickey used to do, not to mention living in constant high-alert mode and fighting all the time, his heart’s probably older than the rest of him.

What’s going to happen when he needs a doctor?

Sure, there’s the free clinic. He goes to the free clinic for therapy. But Ian knows first hand what a private doctor can do. For one thing, the consistency of knowing which doctor you’re going to see every time goes a long way. For another thing, he’s noticed doctors seem to care more when they know they’re getting a full insurance payout. Maybe that’s cynical of him, but he can’t help it. He’s been to a lot of doctors over the years and he thinks he’s earned the right to be cynical of the US healthcare system.

So Mickey needs health insurance. They had their big talk about getting married, and they decided it’s on the horizon. Someday. Ian is so happy with that he could burst. He’s not mad that Mickey needs time. Not at Mickey, anyway. He’s mad at himself for all the shit he pulled that makes Mickey need time. Mostly, he can’t believe Mickey not only realized he needed time but _talked_ to him about it. But as happy as Ian is to wait until Mickey’s ready, it doesn’t solve the health insurance problem. Ian can’t add Mickey to his insurance while they’re hazily, nebulously engaged.

They’re going to have to find a different way for Mickey to get health insurance. He’s not going to get it at the grocery store. It’s going to be almost impossible to get good health insurance at any job Mickey’s going to be able to hold down with his record. They looked at the government health care shit and he isn’t eligible for the free one, but the only one they’d be able to afford is the one that basically only covers dying. And even that isn’t fully covered.

That’s not good enough. Ian wants Mickey seeing a doctor any time he coughs. He wants Mickey to have an on-call therapist, someone who’s sitting around waiting for Mickey to be ready to talk. He wants Mickey to go get an actual eye exam and get a hearing test, too. Mickey’s left elbow is all fucked up from getting it yanked out of the socket too many times as a kid without getting it set right, and he probably needs surgery now. He’s got plenty of old broken bones that never set right. He’s going to end up with arthritis from all that, probably, so he’ll need a good doctor for that.

Mickey lets Ian test his blood pressure every month. They both pretend it’s because Ian needs to practice, because it’s the only way Mickey will do it. Unsurprisingly, Mickey’s blood pressure is hovering close to the prehypertension line. Ian’s working on getting him to start exercising, but Mickey doesn’t seem concerned.

“Terry’s got nothing inside him but rage and booze and he’s never had a heart attack,” he’d said, like that meant he’d be fine.

Sometimes Ian can’t breathe with how much he loves Mickey. He looks at Mickey’s scarred skin and he wants to spend every minute of his day pressing kisses to every inch of him, replacing every act of violence with love. He holds Mickey while he shudders and gasps when he wakes up in the middle of the night and he wants to kill everyone who’s ever hurt him. He feels Mickey’s lips against his and he remembers the terrified kid who couldn’t even look at him straight-on.

So yeah. Ian wants Mickey to have health insurance.

“God, what are you thinking about?” Mickey groans, making Ian jump.

“What?” Ian whispers.

“You’re grinding your fucking teeth, man. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ian lies.

“You’re just awake at fuck-off o’clock in the morning grinding your teeth because nothing’s wrong?” Mickey asks. “Okay. Am I supposed to pretend we’re strangers who met up for a fuck and I don’t know you or something?”

Sometimes, it kind of sucks having someone know every single thing about you. Because Jesus _Christ_ , do they drive each other nuts worrying about each other. Maybe Ian just wants to be able to lie awake in the middle of the night drowning in his worries without freaking someone else out. That’s not going to happen with Mickey here, though. Mickey’s always going to worry when Ian’s drowning.

Ian didn’t quite realize what a special thing that is, back before. He didn’t realize that having just have any old someone worrying over him and his meds and his health was pretty special, and he didn’t fully appreciate how monumental it was that he got _Mickey Milkovich_ to care enough to hover and play nursemaid. Not appreciating it is part of the reason Mickey’s having trouble with the whole marriage thing. So Ian’s working on it. He vowed to himself, when they got back together this time, he’s going to appreciate it. Even when it’s annoying.

“Just got a lot on my mind,” Ian says.

Mickey yawns. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. “Kid’s new shoes and Liam’s backpack and the property taxes,” he lists off drowsily. “We’ll figure it out, worrywart.”

“You still need health insurance,” Ian blurts out.

“Why the fuck are you awake worrying about _health insurance_?” Mickey asks irritably. “I ain’t dropping dead in my sleep tonight. I promise. So please go to sleep and worry about it at normal people worry time.”

“The middle of the night _is_ normal people worry time,” Ian mutters sullenly. Mickey can’t promise he’s not going to drop dead in his sleep tonight. No one can really promise that. Ian gets calls in the middle of the night for unexpected heart attacks and strokes all the time. People who are in better health than Mickey just randomly die. Okay, sure, not often, but still.

“Hey,” Mickey says. His voice is all scratchy with sleep. “Ian. C’mere.”

Ian goes willingly when Mickey pulls him in close and wraps his arms securely around Ian. Ian rests his head on Mickey’s chest and listens to that steady heartbeat. Against all logic, Mickey has a pretty good resting heart rate. Not as good as Ian’s, but better than Lip’s. Ian burrows as close to Mickey as he can get. Mickey wraps his legs around Ian, too, because he knows sometimes Ian just needs him to be an octopus.

“You know I’m real fucking stubborn, huh?” Mickey mumbles. “You think I’m gonna die when we finally get to be happy? Fuck that. I’m living to a hundred and you’re stuck with me forever. You’re gonna get so sick of me you start slipping fucking rat poison into my coffee and it still won’t do the trick. Got it?”

Ian can’t help but laugh a little. It doesn’t make any sense, but this is actually comforting. He knows there are no promises. People have freak accidents, get hit by buses, trip and hit their heads and end up having aneurysms in their own homes that night. Realistically, biologically, either of them could die tonight or tomorrow or ten years from now.

But Mickey’s right—he’s really fucking stubborn. And if he says he’s sticking around, Ian’s learned by now to believe him. So he inhales their soap and laundry detergent and Mickey’s bad breath and he closes his eyes. He trusts Mickey and he goes to sleep.

 

Ian’s off and Mickey has an afternoon shift, so they’re going to have the house to themselves for a few hours while Svetlana goes to a bunch of job interviews. Ian convinces Mickey to go for a run. Mickey’s not very happy about it.

“Come on, Mick, I’m going anyway,” Ian points out. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“No,” Mickey says grumpily, arms crossed over his chest. His hair is all messed up and he has a pillow crease on his face. He looks so much like Yevgeny it makes Ian laugh.

“Coping mechanisms and routines,” Ian reminds him. “I figured this one would be better than meditation.”

“Meditation?” Mickey echoes in disbelief. “You think I should get _more_ in my own head?”

Ian snorts. “Well, that’s not really what meditation is, but yeah, I know you won’t go for that.” Ian raises his eyebrows. “If you have to, just pretend I need you to come with to keep me on my routine.”

“You’re gonna run even if I don’t go,” Mickey says. Ian hasn’t missed a morning run except for work in the entire year they’ve been together again. Mickey complains about it sometimes, in a way that means he wants to acknowledge that Ian’s doing it without sounding like he’s hovering.

“Yeah, that’s why I said _pretend_.”

“I hate running,” Mickey whines as he gets out of bed and looks for his clothes. Ian hides his triumphant grin. He knows better than to say anything, but he’s got Mickey pretty thoroughly whipped. It’s totally different than he used to feel when Kash and Ned would buy him presents and take him to fancy bars. Knowing he can get Mickey to agree to just about anything makes Ian want to be careful what he asks Mickey to do. But it also makes him feel smug, because Ian remembers when Mickey wouldn’t even let Ian kiss him.

Ian kind of regrets making Mickey come with him once they actually start running. Mickey is not a recreational jogger. He can sprint away from cops and other people chasing him, but otherwise, he’s kind of slow and gets bored quickly. And Mickey’s never been someone who cares about keeping up a positive attitude. If he’s unhappy, he’s going to let everyone around him know it.

“Why would you drag a fucking baby out of bed so early?” Mickey asks judgmentally as they pass a woman out for a run with a stroller.

“Ugh, Ian, this is the worst,” he says every two blocks.

“How long we gotta do this for?” He complains. It’s only been a mile.

Ian relents and they head home. Ian knew he couldn’t do his usual six miles if Mickey came with him, but he didn’t realize they’d barely make it two. He figures after Mickey goes to work he’ll have time to squeeze in a few more miles before he has to get Yev from school. If not, he can probably get up extra early tomorrow and fit a mile or two extra in before work. He can’t be skipping his miles all the time. If he’s going to be eating like he’s running his usual miles, he’s got to make up for it.

They get back in time to have breakfast with Yevgeny and Svetlana, because Mickey won’t admit it but he cherishes their family breakfast times, and then they shower and snuggle back down into bed. Neither of them are going to be able to go back to sleep after running, but Ian’s never going to complain about cuddling in bed with Mickey.

“Still worrying about health insurance?” Mickey asks.

“Not as bad,” Ian assures him. “Sorry I was freaking out.”

Mickey shrugs. “Tonight it’ll probably be me. Ain’t gotta be sorry.”

“So if it’s you freaking out tonight you won’t be saying sorry tomorrow?” Ian asks skeptically. He gets a silence that he _knows_ includes an eye roll. He’s got Mickey’s back to his chest, but Mickey’s eye rolls are practically audible.

“Anyway,” Mickey says, because he’ll never admit that Ian’s right. “I guess I can’t get you to quit worrying by saying I can get on yours if we ever…” He can’t even finish the sentence, so obviously it’s not happening this week. Now Ian rolls his eyes.

“If you had insurance and I didn’t, would me saying I’d get it _someday_ make you feel better?”

“Alright, alright,” Mickey relents, because there’s no way he can argue against that. Mickey practically calls Dr. Saria when Ian hits snooze on his alarm clock. He doesn’t get to judge Ian for worrying about him.

“We’ll just have to think of something else,” Ian says. “I mean, it’s not good for you to skip therapy every week it’s the guy you hate.”

Mickey sighs. “Yeah, I know. Get in line. Kim’s already bitching at me all the time about it.”

“Not like you can go back to him, though,” Ian reminds him. “If you don’t like him, he’s not good for you.”

Mickey snorts. “How ‘bout I just quit going to therapy at all and you can take over?”

“Ha, ha,” Ian says sarcastically. “Anyway, that wouldn’t even solve the physical health insurance problem.”

“Oh, my God.” Mickey pinches Ian’s hand lightly to show he’s annoyed with this relentless line of worry.

“You make too much money to get added as a non-family dependent,” Ian laments.

That makes Mickey laugh out loud. “Wow. I make too much. In what fucking world? Jesus.”

“I know,” Ian agrees, because Mickey is most definitely not making too much by any other measure.

“I could try looking for a different job.”

Ian knows Mickey doesn’t love working at the grocery store. It’s not like stocking shelves and doing the checkout line is Mickey’s dream come true. But his manager dotes on him and basically lets him set whatever schedule he wants, and it’s close enough to home and Yevgeny’s school that Mickey can walk to either one pretty quickly. Mickey’s comfortable where he is, and finding a new job would mean meeting new people and changing all his routines. Mickey doesn’t always handle that so well. There’s also the hurdle of Mickey’s violent felony record, six years in the state penitentiary, and parole.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Ian asks, because he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know what Mickey’s dream come true would be.

“Huh?”

“For a job,” Ian clarifies. “When you were…I don’t know, Yev’s age. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Mickey doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I don’t remember wanting to be anything,” he finally says. “Except the hell away from Terry.” He shrugs against Ian’s chest. “Or be more like Terry so he’d quit fucking beating the shit out of me. I don’t remember ever thinking about that. I mean, not like I had a lot of examples, right? Never thought it’d matter. And no one ever asked, anyway.”

“What do you mean, no one ever asked?” Ian asks, confused. “What about at school?”

Mickey snorts. “Milkovich number five comes through your class and you’re gonna bother asking him what he wants to be when he grows up?”

Ian tugs at Mickey’s shoulder until he obligingly squirms around so they’re face to face. Ian presses their foreheads together. “Hey, Mickey,” he says quietly. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Mickey looks away, shaking his head. Ian can see him fighting down emotion. “Don’t.”

“What?” Ian asks.

“Ian, I’m a fucking high school dropout felon,” Mickey says. “No point pretending I should have any big dreams.”

“You have your GED,” Ian counters, because Mickey always acts like it doesn’t count. He always acts like it counts for Ian, of course, but for Mickey it’s an afterthought.

“I did that for you and Mandy.”

“So do this for me,” Ian presses. “Come on. Humor me. Don’t think about logic and the real world. If you could do anything in the whole world, what would it be? I wouldn’t be in the Army, by the way.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asks, interested despite himself.

“I’m older and wiser now,” he says, overly serious so Mickey will laugh. He smiles when it works. “I think I’d be a teacher.”

Mickey’s face splits into a smile. “Yeah, you’d be a good teacher.”

“You think so?” Ian asks, pride blooming in his chest.

“Oh, yeah,” Mickey says. “Dealing with all those little rugrats your whole life made you good at helping people understand shit.” Mickey tilts his head. “You could do that now, you know. Go back to school and do teaching.”

Ian shakes his head. “I like being an EMT,” he says. “It’s just I never considered teaching before, you know? I never thought I was smart enough.”

Mickey snorts. “Well, that’s dumb,” he says. “You’re really fucking smart.”

Ian doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way his heart fills up when Mickey compliments him. Mickey doesn’t exactly hand out compliments like candy on Halloween. (Mickey doesn’t even hand out candy on Halloween, actually.) But Mickey compliments Ian all the time. When Ian stopped to really think about it, he realized Mickey always has. Even back when Mickey wouldn’t kiss him, he’d tell Ian what a good fuck he was. And sure, it may not be the kind of compliment romance movies are centered around, but Ian was always just giddy Mickey acknowledged they were fucking at all.

“You’re smart, too, Mick,” Ian says softly. Mickey is not good at taking compliments. It’s not a surprise, but it still bruises Ian’s heart a little bit every time he tries and sees the doubt on Mickey’s face.

“I couldn’t be a teacher,” Mickey says. “No fucking way.”

Ian laughs a little. “I don’t think you have the temperament to run a classroom,” he agrees.

Mickey snorts. “Fuck no.” He gets quiet, and Ian waits him out. He can see Mickey’s actually thinking about it. “I…” Mickey hesitates. He looks at Ian and then cuts his eyes away quickly. He’s about to say something real, something he’s worried Ian will laugh at him for. The fact that Mickey trusts him enough to tell him these kinds of things makes Ian kind of awed. He gets that trust. He gets to be the one Mickey turns to. It’s a big responsibility, and he takes it seriously. “I like fixing stuff,” Mickey says, sounding unsure.

“Yeah, and you’re good at it,” Ian tells him. This isn’t Ian blowing smoke up Mickey’s ass to make him feel good. Mickey can fix _anything_. Fiona’s got him on speed dial now because he keeps that old house running. Also because the two of them have coffee together at least once a week and gossip like a pair of old ladies in a nursing home, but Mickey won’t admit that part.

Mickey’s smile is one of the small, shy ones only Ian gets to see. “Maybe I’d have a repair shop or something,” Mickey says. “I don’t want to kiss some boss’s ass.”

“Mickey, you’d be so good at that,” Ian says. “You could do that.”

The smile drops off Mickey’s face. “What would I call it? Felon Fixers?”

Ian laughs a little. “That kind of sounds like you’re fixing the felons.”

“No one’s gonna bring their shit if they’re worried I’m going to sell it out from under them. They’re not gonna let me into their house thinking I’m casing the place to rob it later.” He doesn’t mention that’s exactly the kind of thing he used to do. They both know it. Ian hates that all the shit Mickey had to do to just survive comes back to haunt him now.

“Mick, I don’t think people care if you have a record if you can fix stuff,” Ian points out. “People don’t usually google felony records for store owners before they go in.”

“No one around here’s going to trust a Milkovich,” Mickey protests. “You know that.”

“So don’t tell them,” Ian says with a shrug. “Call it Mickey’s Repairs or what the fuck ever.” He puts his hands on Mickey’s face. “You don’t have to just take whatever you can get, Mick. You can want things. You can make things happen.”

“What I want is to fucking drop it,” Mickey says resolutely, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

“Okay,” Ian relents. He can give Mickey time to think about it. “But this _still_ doesn’t solve our immediate problem of your health insurance.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Did you secretly scan me for tumors or something? You’re fucking obsessed with the insurance thing.” Ian can see the moment Mickey gets worried this is Ian being manic. His eyes focus on Ian and nothing else. But Ian can also see him struggling not to say anything, because Ian broke up with him when they were teenagers because he didn’t want to turn Mickey into a nurse. Another reason Mickey can’t marry him yet. Ian’s screwups when they were kids are still screwing them over now. It’s not a great feeling.

“I’m not manic,” Ian promises quietly. “When I’m manic, I focus on crazy things. Remember the suitcases?” Mickey smiles a little wryly. “This is logical,” Ian goes on. “I’m obsessed with this because I’m just obsessed with you in general.”

Mickey snorts. “Who isn’t?” He says smugly, like he actually is cocky about that instead of constantly thinking no one wants him around.

“I just want to make sure you’re taken care of,” Ian says. “I don’t want you to get sick and just ignore it.”

Mickey shrugs. “Been doing it my whole life. You did, too.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want you to do it anymore,” Ian says. “Do you know how great it is to be able to go the doctor when I need to?”

Mickey sighs. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it, though.”

“I don’t know, either,” Ian says. It would be so much easier if Mickey didn’t have all those hang-ups about getting married. Ian knows it’s his fault, kind of. Mickey keeps sternly telling him it’s not about blame or fault, but Ian can’t help but take it that way. When Ian thinks about their relationship, he’s always thought of himself as the one who chased after Mickey. He was the one who was pushing Mickey for more. He remembers it as him doing all the work.

That isn’t actually right, though. Mickey had to remind him of all that shit he did. And Mickey always quickly says he doesn’t blame Ian. But running off with Monica and breaking up with Mickey and never visiting him in prison and slipping out in the middle of the night after they met back up and slept together—those are all Ian’s fault completely. He can’t blame being bipolar for that.

As much as they’re excited at the idea of getting married someday, and as much as they’re in a new kind of honeymoon phase at the idea, there’s also a new little layer of insecurity in their relationship, at least for Ian. He’s part of the reason Mickey needs more time. It hurts and makes him feel guilty, and then he’s working so hard to be on his best behavior with Mickey so he doesn’t make it worse that he doesn’t have any energy left to just be real with him. He’s never had to worry about being on his best behavior with Mickey before. It’s weird and leaves him feeling strung-out.

“I thought up a birthday present you can give Fiona to make up for her not having a party,” Mickey changes the subject. It’s a good thing he does, too, because Ian’s starting to wallow. He doesn’t want to wallow when Mickey can see him. Mickey feels bad for Ian feeling guilty and then Ian feels guilty for Mickey feeling bad and they get caught in an endless guilt loop.

Ian can’t help but laugh a little at his wording. Mickey will not admit that he so much as likes any of Ian siblings, but it’s completely obvious that he _loves_ Fiona. They have their little coffee dates and he lets her hug him every time they’re together and he’s been thinking up birthday presents for her. But he won’t let Ian say it’s from Mickey. Ian has to say it’s from him, even though Fiona will probably know it’s from Mickey. It’s a silly little dance Mickey does, but Ian doesn’t care too much. Mickey’s participating in family bonding in his own way.

Fiona’s birthday is only a few days after Mickey’s, but they were caught up in giving Mickey a big party this year. Ian didn’t tell her it was the first birthday party Mickey’s ever had, but he’s pretty sure Fiona had an idea it wasn’t something Mickey had a lot of growing up. Besides that, it was his first birthday out of jail, so it would’ve been big anyway. Fiona didn’t mind missing out on her own birthday festivities. She kind of shies away from parties now, since that year Liam got hurt.

“What is it?” Ian asks.

“We could fix the carpet at the house,” Mickey says. “That guy Ray at the store’s got a brother who flips houses. Said he could get us cheap stuff and we can do it ourselves. It won’t be great, but it’ll be better than what’s there.”

Ian doesn’t like to look at the carpet in the living room. A few years ago, when he was off his meds again because they were making him fat, he got it into his head that he needed to replace the carpet. That wasn’t necessarily wrong; that carpet’s been there since before any of them were born, and there are stains and worn patches all over it. But Ian had started ripping up the carpet without any new carpet to replace it with, and they certainly couldn’t afford to buy carpet. Not to mention Ian didn’t have the first clue what he was doing, and he ended up slicing his hand open with the knife he was using to cut the carpet. He’d sat there against the wall, cracking up laughing as he watched blood well up and run down his arm.

He’d badgered eight-year-old Liam into helping him, and Liam had burst into tears. “What’s wrong, buddy?” Ian had asked, blood dripping all over the ripped-up carpet.

“You’re scaring me!” Liam had sobbed. It was a slap in the face. Liam was already trying hard to be tough and not cry over stuff by then, but he his chest was heaving with the force of his sobs. Ian had reminded himself so much of Monica in that moment, and it terrified him. Liam, too, obviously. The very next day, he let Lip take him to see someone he knew from campus and get back on his meds. That was when he met Dr. Saria, and he’s been seeing him and stable with his meds ever since.

Fiona had just thrown away the parts of the carpet he’d bled on and tossed down some rugs over the bare floor. It’s stayed like that for four years, because in the grand scheme of things in that house that need replacing, carpet is low on the priority list. Every time Ian sits in the living room, he remembers the tears clinging to Liam’s eyelashes and feels shame clog his throat.

“That’d be good,” Ian manages to say.

“Hey,” Mickey says, tipping Ian’s head back up with his knuckles. “No one blames you for that shit. They don’t hold it against you.”

“Maybe we should keep part of the carpet,” Ian suggests, sounding bitterer than he’d meant to. “Hang it up as a reminder in case I want to go off my meds again.”

“’Kay, but you’re not gonna do that,” Mickey says, warning in his voice. “And anyway, if you need a reminder, isn’t seeing the kid every day enough?”

Ian makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah,” he says, because Mickey definitely has a point. The guilt’s dulled so that Ian doesn’t feel strangled by it every time he looks at Yevgeny anymore, but sometimes he’ll be sitting with Yev in his lap, resting against his chest, and he’ll remember that he could’ve killed this little boy. It stops his breath.

“Sorry,” Mickey says, chagrined. “Didn’t mean to make you feel shitty.”

Ian sighs. “It’s not a bad thing that I still feel some guilt over what I did,” he points out.

“I think it is,” Mickey protests. “That was a hundred years ago. Kid’s fine. You’re fine. It’s all okay. Don’t fucking beat yourself up over it.”

Ian smiles at Mickey, because Mickey will always be Ian’s biggest defender. Especially against himself. If it were up to Mickey, Ian would never feel bad about anything, ever. Ian’s tried pointing out that would make him some kind of sociopath, probably, but Mickey doesn’t seem to care.

“Well, I think Fiona will love new carpet,” Ian says. They’re not going to come to agreement over Ian beating himself up. “And you will secure your spot as her favorite person on Earth even more.”

Mickey scoffs. “Bunch’a people ahead of me on that list.”

“I don’t think so,” Ian says. “I think if things went south now she’d pick you in the divorce.”

Mickey clicks his tongue and nudges Ian. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, and Ian’s pretty sure he’s mostly just annoyed at Ian joking about the possibility of them splitting up than at the prospect of Fiona liking him.

“I’m not saying we’re gonna give her a reason to choose,” Ian defends himself.

“She just likes that I can fix stuff,” Mickey says dismissively.

“Yeah, that’s what you guys cackle about during your gossip coffee dates.”

Mickey looks affronted. “I don’t _cackle_.”

Ian might cackle just then. The fact that that’s what Mickey’s most offended about in that sentence is cracking him up. “So you admit you have gossip coffee dates!”

“No!” Mickey backpedals. “I just hang around waiting for your slow ass and she gives me coffee.”

“You are so full of shit,” Ian says fondly. “Just admit my sister is your best friend. Hey, your sister’s mine, so we’re even.”

“Your sister is not my best friend,” Mickey protests.

“Okay, then who is?” Ian challenges. “And you can’t say me,” he adds quickly. “We already decided we don’t count.”

“I didn’t decide shit,” Mickey says. “You decided that because you didn’t want Mandy to chop your balls off.”

Ian laughs at him, because Mickey is absolutely ridiculous. Ian loves when Mickey gets like this, all blustery and teasingly contrary. He knows most people don’t get the teasing part, and most people just think Mickey’s _always_ contrary, but Ian knows the difference. Mickey looks him in the eye more when he’s just teasing.

“Fine, are you saying I’m your best friend?” Ian asks.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Aw, Mick, don’t be embarrassed,” Ian teases. “Come on, tell me I’m your best friend.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mickey says.

“If you’re lucky,” Ian fires back, and Mickey loses his fight not to laugh. Ian loves that sound. He thinks he should record it so he can play it on a loop whenever he’s upset about anything. That’s probably a weird, too-intense way to feel, but he can’t help it.

As much as he hates to admit it, Monica was right when she said they feel things too big. Ian always has. He was so afraid when he first got on meds and they dulled everything. It was always why Monica wouldn’t stick to them, and it was why Ian had so much trouble. But now he knows he can still feel things. Every med adjustment takes time to resettle, but if he sticks it out for the initial period he’s not blank and numb. Admittedly, it’s not the same as it used to be. But it’s okay. It _has_ to be okay. He can give up some of his big feelings if it means not hurting himself or anyone else.

Mickey leans up and kisses him, and Ian makes a pleased little noise. Another thing he knows is probably weird is how much he loves kissing Mickey. Just kissing. He could sit and kiss Mickey forever without it ever turning into sex and he’d be happy. He loves the way Mickey’s lips feel and he loves the way Mickey does his best to press his whole body into Ian’s. There aren’t many things that feel better than the warm weight of Mickey on top of him.

They lie there making out for a while. They didn’t get a lot of time to make out lazily as teenagers, so they probably overcompensate now. Ian’s certainly not going to complain. Mickey kisses down Ian’s neck and Ian sighs contentedly. It would be so nice if they didn’t have responsibilities and could just stay like this all the time. He doesn’t think the allure would ever go away.

“Whatcha think?” Mickey asks, panting a bit by now. “You just want this?”

“Or what?” Ian asks, arching an eyebrow. He knows what Mickey’s asking, but sometimes Ian likes to make him ask for real and make him squirm.

Mickey makes a face at him. “You want to make out or you want to fuck?”

Ian snorts at his eloquence. In terms of smooth propositions, he hasn’t come too far from _you want to chitchat or you wanna get on me?_ In his defense, he’s never had to be smooth about it. Not with Ian, certainly. Ian gestures down. “Well, we’ve got a green light here, so I say we don’t waste it.”

He doesn’t have as much trouble getting hard as he did when he first went on meds. He still can’t get it up at the drop of a hat like he used to, and Mickey spends a lot of time on his knees, trying to get Ian’s dick to join the party, but he always tells Ian it doesn’t bother him.

“You ain’t getting hard for anyone else and not me, right?” He’d joked once. “So I won’t take it personal.”

But Ian’s hard now, and Mickey’s running his tongue over his bottom lip the way he does when he’s turned on. Ian dreams about that sometimes. He did a lot more when Mickey was locked up and dreaming was the only way he was going to see it. Now, he gets to see it in person again, so he doesn’t have to rely on dreams.

One of the things Ian’s always loved about sex with Mickey, something he dreamed about a _lot_ while Mickey was gone, is what Mickey says during sex. More to the point, what he _doesn’t_. Ian spent a lot of his formative years fucking guys who were specifically with him for how he looked and how young he was. He got called _twink_ constantly, and a few times guys even called him _son_. That really freaked him out. They liked his body and didn’t give a shit what was in his brain or his heart.

Mickey, for all his swearing and vulgarity, isn’t really one for dirty talk. It’s not surprising once you actually get to know him. When he was acting like he and Ian were solely fuck buddies, he didn’t say much of anything, but he’d sometimes say things like, “ _Yeah, fuck, come on, Gallagher_ ” or “ _Get to work back there, Army, shit, let’s go_.” The more involved they got, the more he’d say, but Mickey has never, _ever_ called Ian a twink. He never leans into Ian’s ear and growls, “ _Yeah, boy, you like that, don’t you?_ ” Everything Mickey says is specific to Ian, even if it’s just Ian’s name. Ian never has to wonder who Mickey’s picturing in his head while they’re fucking.

Sex with Mickey can usually be split into two moods. If he’s playful, he’ll do his teasing goading at Ian. “ _Come on, Ian, that all you got? I been gagging for that fire crotch all day, give me what I want_.” But Mickey can get really emotional during sex, too, which was a _crazy_ discovery for Ian. The first time Mickey had cried during sex, Ian had almost called 911, he was so freaked out. He’d never seen anyone cry during sex, not even Kash, who seemed most likely to do that. He didn’t think any guys did that, but even then he’d known better than to point that out to Mickey.

Mickey used to not talk at all when he was emotional during sex. He’d lie there with shiny eyes, holding his breath and not saying a word. But he does now, and Ian loves it. He sometimes can’t decide if playful-sex Mickey is better or if it’s emotional-sex Mickey. Mickey definitely isn’t playful enough, but emotional Mickey is a sight to behold. Especially because Ian knows he’s the only one beholding it. Emotional Mickey whispers everything. He says things like, “ _Ian, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”_ and “ _I don’t know what I’d do without you_.” He even once told Ian, “ _I thought about you every day when I was inside. You’re all that got me through_.” He must save up some of the big things he wants to say to Ian and let them out during emotional sex.

Even emotional Mickey doesn’t use pet names, but Ian really doesn’t mind. He’d mostly been teasing Mickey by calling him _babe_. Ian got too used to guys who used pet names so they wouldn’t have to worry about remembering his name. He likes that Mickey just says his name. Mickey doesn’t use people’s names if they’re not important to him.

He gets playful Mickey today, Mickey who gives him a titty twister before going in to soothe it with his mouth. Playful Mickey is a lot louder than emotional Mickey, so an empty house is a good time for playful Mickey to come out.

They’re catching their breath when Mickey’s phone alarm goes off. He groans. “Soon’s I finish parole, I’m quitting that job and you’re supporting my unemployed ass. Then I can get on your insurance even if I’m still too fucked for the other way, right?”

Ian snorts, because Mickey doesn’t like having a job but there is no way he’d let Ian pay for everything all the time. Ian doesn’t even know why Mickey has hang-ups about working, because Terry would’ve jumped at the chance to have someone else support him. He never did much to contribute to the household and it was usually up to Mickey to make sure they had money. Maybe that’s why; it’s another way Mickey’s crusading to not be his father. “Yeah, if I support more than half of your expenses. Good thing you’re used to living in a shithole, because that’s what it would turn into.”

Mickey laughs and gives Ian another kiss that turns into two and then three. “Svet’s probably getting one of those jobs right now,” he points out between kisses. “So both of you can support me.”

“Why do you get the best part of this deal?” Ian asks, holding Mickey in place a little longer.

“’Cause I’m the hot piece of ass who keeps you coming back for more.”

Ian cracks up laughing. Playful Mickey is wonderful. Ian slaps the hot ass in question and Mickey bites his ear. “We do not have time for round two,” Ian warns him as Mickey moves down to suck at his collarbone. “You’re already running behind.”

“I’ll just show up smelling like jizz so they all know I had a good reason for being late.”

Ian laughs again. His heart feels full to bursting right now. He loves Mickey so much. “God, Mick, come on, why can’t you marry me yet?” He sounds fond, but there’s also an undercurrent of rebuke in his voice. He doesn’t fully understand why Mickey can live with him, tell him he loves him, be together like this, and still not be ready.

Mickey stills and Ian wishes he could pull the words back. Just because he doesn’t understand it doesn’t mean he can pressure Mickey about it. That never works with Mickey for anything, and it’s not fair when Ian knows his own actions contributed to all this.

“Ian,” Mickey starts.

“No,” Ian cuts him off. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not something that’s going to happen overnight. I was just caught up. I just love you.”

“I’m trying,” Mickey says flatly, not looking at Ian.

“No, no, I know,” Ian says. “I’m sorry.”

Mickey takes a deep breath. “Okay.” He rolls away from Ian. “I just…”

“Forget I said it, Mick,” Ian says desperately. “I know it’s my fault in the first place.”

Mickey sighs. “It’s not your fault,” he counters. “It’s just…” He shrugs. “My shitty brain, man.”

Ian goes up to his elbow so he can look at Mickey. “It is my fault though,” he says softly. “At least a little bit.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Mickey assures him, like he always does. “I love you.” He’s getting good at saying it with no hesitation. Deciding to work up to getting married seems to have unlocked that part of him again, the part of him that stood there and brazenly said it outside on the street for anyone else to hear.

Just before Ian left him.

“I know, but—” Ian’s interrupted by Mickey’s second alarm, the one that means he has to leave or he’s not making it to work on time. They both have to stick to their routines for stability, and Mickey sometimes has trouble remembering to do things on time without guards shuffling him from place to place, so he sets a few alarms for everything. “Okay,” Ian says, waving a hand. “It’s fine. Go to work.”

“Hey,” Mickey says quietly. “You mad?”

“Mickey, I’m not mad,” Ian promises. “Not at you.”

Mickey chews at his lip. “At yourself?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, because there’s no real point in denying it. If Ian had his shit together better, they wouldn’t have this problem. There’s nothing he can do to change that, though. Apparently he just has to wait it out. And he wasn’t lying when he told Mickey he’d wait forever. He just wishes forever would hurry up a bit.

Mickey sighs. “I won’t leave if we’re not good.”

Ian would never have believed even two months ago Mickey would say something like that. Storming out used to be Mickey’s number one tactic in an argument. Just the fact that he’s still sitting here, half on the bed and half off, leg bouncing but not running out the door, because he wants to make sure they discuss a problem, makes Ian want to cry a little bit. Maybe he’s actually asleep and this is a dream. Maybe he’s dead and this is heaven. How would he have made it to heaven, though? He doesn’t even believe in heaven, mostly. Maybe he’ll open his eyes in two minutes and he’ll be in a hospital somewhere, committed for slitting his wrists like Monica did more than once.

“Ian,” Mickey prompts. He looks a little worried.

“We’re good,” Ian promises him. “As much time as you need. I’m still here, you’re still here.”

Mickey nods definitively. “Okay.” He leans in kisses Ian again, hand stroking gently at Ian’s chin. He still looks a little sad when he smiles, though. “Better shave if you plan on cuddling the kid later,” he points out. “You know how he feels about scratchy whiskers.”

Ian pushes Mickey’s hair off his forehead and leans up to kiss him again. “I will.”

“Bye,” Mickey murmurs.

“Bye.” Ian watches him yank his clothes on, rushing now. “Hey,” Ian says just before Mickey rushes out the door. Mickey turns back quickly. He’s got his annoyed eyebrows going, the kind that mean _what the fuck’s the holdup here?_ It makes Ian smile again. “I love you.”

Ian watches Mickey’s annoyed eyebrows go away. He ducks his head. “Alright, alright, take it easy,” he says, shaking his head with one of those shy smiles on his face. “You already got me.”

Ian sighs and flops back on the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. Mickey’s right. Ian has him. He knows that. He just wish his failures hadn’t put such a wrench in their lives now.

 

Ian dashes at the sweat running into his eyes and pushes himself to go faster. He always likes to end on his fastest mile, but he’s sluggish today. His legs are heavy. He huffs in frustration and forces himself on. Since Svetlana joined that Russian book club, she’s bringing home way too much heavy Russian food. Ian’s way off track with his nutrition plan, and now he’s feeling it.

He’s panting hard when he pulls up a block from the apartment so he can do his cooldown walk. Mickey had scoffed at the cooldown walk a few days ago when they ran together, but then the next morning he’d been stiff and sore. Ian had just raised his eyebrows in silent _I told you so_.

“Hey, Jesse Owens.” Mickey’s got the front door open and is poking his head out.

Ian snorts. “Definitely not Jesse Owens,” he says.

“He’s the only runner guy I’ve ever heard of,” Mickey says unapologetically. Ian’s kind of surprised he’s even heard of Jesse Owens. “You coming in for breakfast or what?”

“I’m coming,” Ian promises. “Just getting in my cooldown. It’s pretty important, you know.”

“Fuck you and your cooldown,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. “You get lost out there or something?”

“Nah, just ran extra today to make up for dragging your slow ass around last week.”

Mickey flips him off. “Yeah, well, you running extra means you don’t have time to do anything with my slow ass before work.”

Ian comes up the steps and gives Mickey a sweaty kiss. “Well, damn,” he says. “Think you’ll survive until tonight?”

“Long time to wait,” Mickey says with a grin, getting his hands on Ian’s hips and pulling him in closer.

Ian laughs at him. “You never care when I’m all sweaty and gross.”

“Man, I spent like fifteen years smelling like dog shit. You think I care about sweat covered up by your fucking big man deodorant?”

“That mean you like my deodorant or you don’t like my deodorant?” Ian asks, pressing his sweaty chest against Mickey’s. If Mickey doesn’t care, Ian’s going to take advantage.

Mickey snorts. “I really don’t give a fuck.” Ian smirks. That means Mickey likes his deodorant. If he didn’t, he’d just come right out and say it. But admitting he likes how it makes Ian smell is harder for him. Even after all this time, he has to work up to stuff like that. He can compliment Ian on things he thinks are objective parts of Ian’s personality, like saying he’s smart and funny; stuff that anyone else could observe, too. He still has trouble with connecting those compliments to himself and his feelings about Ian. It doesn’t bother Ian. He learned a long time ago how to read between the lines with Mickey, and Mickey’s working on putting those feelings into words more.

“Aw, come on, Mick,” Ian wheedles. He’s got his post-run high and he’s feeling playful. “Don’t you think I smell good?”

“I know you think _I_ smell good,” Mickey says smugly.

“Got that right,” Ian agrees. He makes a big show of lifting up Mickey’s arm and shoving his face into Mickey’s armpit. “Always have. Best smell in the world.”

“You’re so fucking gay,” Mickey laughs. “Oh my God, get away from me.”

“But I like smelling you.”

He chases Mickey through the living room and into the kitchen. Mickey’s laughing the whole time. _Laughing_. Out loud. Ian loves that.

“What are you doing?” Yevgeny asks.

“Trying to smell Dad,” Ian tells him. “Doesn’t he smell good?”

“No,” Yevgeny says bluntly. This kid is never going to learn about polite lies with Mickey and Svetlana around. Neither of them have ever cared much for decorum. “He didn’t brush his teeth!”

“I’m still fucking eating,” Mickey says defensively. “Look who’s talking, you little gremlin.”

“What’s a gremlin?”

“Like a weird furry monster thing,” Mickey says. “You feed it after midnight and it turns into a demon.”

Yevgeny scrunches up his face. “I’m a monster?”

“Sometimes,” Ian says, leaning down to snag a piece of Mickey’s bacon. Mickey bats at his hand and points to the plate on the table. “I don’t want a whole piece, just a bite,” Ian says, leaning in and taking his bite. Mickey doesn’t fight him this time.

“Why?” Mickey asks.

“I just want the eggs.”

“What we gonna do with this leftover bacon then?” Mickey asks.

Ian shrugs. “Put it on a sandwich and take it to work with you for lunch.”

“I don’t like bacon,” Yevgeny announces. “It tastes like a pan.”

“How the fuck you know what a pan tastes like?” Mickey asks, eyebrows raised. “You licking them when we’re not looking?”

Yevgeny cracks up laughing at the thought. Then, because he’s seven, he jumps out of his chair and runs over to the pan on the counter. Of course he licks it.

“I licked it!” He announces proudly.

“Yeah, I fucking saw you,” Mickey says, shaking his head. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Is that really what the bacon tastes like?” Ian asks, shaking his head at Mickey offering the salt shaker.

“Well, this one, yeah,” Yevgeny says. “Dad cooked the bacon in it.”

“Zhenya!” Svetlana calls from the bathroom. She yells out the rest of her fifteen-minute warning in Russian.

“Da, Mama!” Yevgeny yells back. He sighs at Ian and Mickey. “Today we’re going on a field trip.”

“Oh, yeah, to the museum,” Ian remembers. “That’ll be super fun.”

“My teacher put me in _Brad’s_ group,” Yev says grumpily. “Because his mom’s coming with us.” Unfortunately, Brad is in Yev’s class again.

“Yeah, well, he won’t pull any shit with his mom there, will he?” Mickey asks.

“I don’t know. He still pulls shit with Ms. Adamson there.”

Ian hides a laugh in his eggs. “Yev, make sure you don’t say _shit_ in front of the teacher, okay?”

“I don’t,” Yev promises. “Those are just at-home words. Like fuck. But how come Dad can say fuck even not at home?”

“Because I’m a grownup,” Mickey says. “Tough shit being a kid.”

Yev sighs. “When are you going to come on my field trip with me?”

“Which one of us?” Mickey asks, dodging the question. Mickey does not want to be a field trip chaperone. Honestly, it would be a miserable experience for everyone involved.

“Either,” Yev says with a shrug. He looks at Ian. “Ms. Adamson said you are a nice man.”

Mickey scoffs. “I think Ms. Adamson thinks he has a nice ass.”

“Really?” Yev asks, nose wrinkled up. “Why?”

“Because he does,” Mickey tells him. He shoots Ian this smug, fond little look that makes Ian feel light enough to float away.

“Do I have a nice ass?” Yev asks. Ian chokes on his eggs and Mickey shakes his head.

“You don’t ask people in your own fucking family if you have a nice ass,” Mickey informs him. He says this like it’s a normal thing to talk to your seven-year-old about at the breakfast table. “That’s for other people to decide.”

“Like Ms. Adamson?” Yev asks, and then Ian and Mickey are both choking on their food with laughter.

“Fuck,” Mickey says, cracking up. “ _No_. Don’t go around dating anyone more than five years older than you, got it?”

“No, start with two for now,” Ian interjects. “When you’re older the age gap can get bigger, but start small.”

Mickey nods, deferring to Ian’s expertise here. Ian thinks bitterly he could’ve done with someone telling him this. But it’s okay. He’s making sure Yev doesn’t go through what he did.

“I don’t want to date anyone,” Yev declares. “I just want to play with my dinosaurs.”

“Good,” Mickey says. “Give Ian some of your eggs. You ate extra bacon.”

“No, I’m fine,” Ian protests. “Yev’s the growing boy.” Mickey doesn’t like that answer. He’s frowning hard now.

“Zhenya,” Svetlana says, coming into the kitchen then and saving Ian. She’s all dressed up and holding a briefcase. Ian blinks. He didn’t even know Svetlana had a briefcase.

“Got another job interview?” Ian asks her.

“Second interview,” she says proudly.

“Hey, there you go!” Ian praises her. She preens a little. She is much better at taking compliments than Mickey is. But Ian’s not stupid enough to think she doesn’t have her own self-esteem problems. So far, she’s the only adult in the house not in therapy. Mickey’s doing his best to wear her down. The only thing more surprising than Mickey trying to talk Svetlana into therapy is the fact that Mickey’s started making a few comments about taking Yev to see a therapist just to be sure they’re not completely fucking him over for the rest of his life. Ian can’t argue with that logic, not that he’d want to anyway.

“I will probably get the job,” Svetlana says. She’s speaking in a careful, clear voice. Something about it makes Ian’s stomach hurt a little. She doesn’t want them to turn her down because of her English. The English she taught herself after being sold from pimp to pimp. Sometimes Ian looks at these two broken people he loves so much and wonders how anyone can ever think they’re anything short of amazing. They’ve both clawed their way into a good life, and Ian’s never going to let anyone or anything take it from them.

“If they think anyone’s better than you, tell them to call me and I’ll have a few things to say,” Ian promises. Svetlana waves a careless little hand, but she’s smiling at him.

“Time to go,” she tells Yev. “Put plate in sink and get your shoes.”

“You want more juice?” Mickey asks Ian as Yev does as he’s told.

“Did you eat something?” Ian asks Svetlana, holding his cup out to Mickey for a refill. They buy the low-sugar kind, so it’s not as bad as it could be. He can’t have any more after this cup, though.

“She ate bacon and eggs and toast while you were out running extra miles,” Mickey says, sort of pointedly.

Svetlana picks up on the edge in his voice and looks at Ian. “You are not eating?”

Ian holds up his forkful of eggs. “I’m eating.”

“He’s eating,” Mickey echoes under his breath. “Some.”

“Mick,” Ian warns. He doesn’t want to get into this. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Finish your fucking eggs!” Mickey insists. Ian takes a deep breath. Mickey loves him. Mickey cares about him. Mickey worries as a result of that love and care. Ian’s lucky to have Mickey caring about him. It’s a mantra he tries to cling to when Mickey’s hovering is getting to him.

“Ian,” Svetlana cuts in. She doesn’t use his name often. It’s almost weird to hear her say it. “Body cannot run without food.”

“I’m not a fucking child,” Ian says, losing his cool a bit. He’s still got most of his temper in check. A little raised voice isn’t the end of the world. Yelling a little at Mickey isn’t going to send him running. “You don’t have to take notes on what I’m eating and track my calories for me.”

“Well, someone fucking should,” Mickey says bluntly. “Ian, I’m worried about you.”

That’s the big bomb Mickey drops when he thinks the situation’s spiraling out of his control. It’s still a big thing for him to admit, even now when worries about Ian constantly. There’s an insecurity lurking in his eyes that Ian knows is completely his own fault. He left Mickey before when Mickey was worried about him. Mickey’s afraid of pushing too hard. This is why they can’t get married; because Ian proved Mickey couldn’t trust him when he pushes.

Ian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He forces his shoulders to relax and closes his eyes for a second to gather his composure. He can’t lash out at Mickey right now, even though he _really fucking wants to_. He opens his eyes and looks right into Mickey’s.

“I’m fine,” he promises. “I’m not starving myself. I’m not spiraling. Okay? I promise. I’m just not very hungry right now. But you can pack me a lunch and I will send you a picture of me eating it.”

Mickey chews at his lips anxiously. “I’m not trying to be a dick,” he says.

“I know you’re not,” Ian says. He’s barely hanging onto his self-control right now. His head is pounding and he still smells like sweat. He wants to take a shower and go to work and get away from Mickey. And then he feels like shit for wanting to get away from Mickey. He loves Mickey. He doesn’t _really_ want to be away from Mickey, not ever. But right now he just wants Mickey to stop watching his every fucking move.

Mickey hesitates. “Go take a shower,” he says, trying to sound light. “You fucking stink.” The humor falls woefully flat, but Ian appreciates the effort. When Ian’s leaving for work, Mickey stops him at the front door. He kisses him long and deep and holds onto Ian tight. “I love you,” he says seriously. “I just…I don’t really know how to show you except by trying to take care of you.”

It would be a lie to say _all_ of Ian’s annoyance evaporates. But a lot of it does. He wraps his arms around Mickey and buries his face in Mickey’s neck. “I know you do,” Ian promises him. “And you show me plenty. I just get mad about the meds because everyone always fucking acts like I can’t do it on my own.”

Mickey nods, not looking at Ian. He’s rubbing his hand up and down Ian’s back. “Okay,” he says. “I—I’ll try not to be so fucking annoying about it.”

“You’re not annoying for taking care of me,” Ian says. It’s not totally a lie. But Mickey sees through him and snorts.

“Yeah, I am,” he contradicts without any heat. “But I’m glad you put up with it.”

“I’m gonna put up with it for the rest of our lives,” Ian reminds him. “Always. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. “I got it.” He squeezes the back of Ian’s neck and brings their faces together for another kiss. “Go to work,” he murmurs against Ian’s lips. “Make me some money so I can quit my job.”

Ian huffs. “Who would’ve thought after all the times I had sugar daddies, I’d turn into one?”

Mickey makes a face. “You’re nothing like all those sick fucks,” he says. Ian doesn’t know exactly why that’s such an endearing thing for Mickey to say, but it makes Ian grin so hard his face hurts.

“I love you,” Ian tells him.

“I love you, too,” Mickey says. He gives Ian a little push. “You’re late, you know.”

“Ah, fuck,” Ian curses. It’ll be the third time he’s been late this week. All the extra miles he’s logging are throwing off his morning routine. Mickey laughs at him as he dashes out of the house, and Ian feels like they’re okay again.

 

Ian’s tired. He’s glad, though. When he’s manic, he’s never tired, and he’s not tired like he gets when he’s low, so this is an okay kind of tired to be. He has a bit of a headache, but he can ignore that. He calls Mandy like he always does on his way home.

“Hi,” she says, and Ian’s on high alert from one word.

“What’s up?” He asks.

Mandy sighs. “You remember that guy I went out with a few times?”

His name is Reggie and they didn’t just _go out_ a few times. Mandy’s seen him every day for almost two months now. If she was still around here, they’d be ghetto married by now.

“What happened?” Ian asks, already getting mad. If she sounds dejected like that, it’s nothing good. Ian’s not above going to Detroit to handle it. They’d have to be careful sneaking Mickey across state lines since he’s on parole, but they could get it done.

Mandy sighs again. “Wasn’t the one, I guess.”

“But what happened?” Ian presses.

Mandy’s quiet. “I have so much shit, Ian. Like…baggage, you know? That’s what people call it. And I couldn’t tell him any of it. So I guess he wasn’t the one. You’re supposed to be able to share all that shit, right?” She sniffles a little. “I want someone I can share it with. And he wasn’t it.”

Ian thinks of that fundraiser at the Alibi and the lock on Mandy’s door. He thinks of Mandy’s bruised face and split lip from Kenyatta’s fists and the scar he once saw on her shoulder blade that she’d told him, would-be casual, was from Terry and a broken bottle. He thinks of Lip stringing her along and popping in and out of her life. Ian has to fight tears for a second. She deserves to be happy. There are so many people who didn’t have to go through half the shit Mandy has and they get to be happy. It isn’t fair.

“You deserve someone you can share it with,” he tells her. “And if he wasn’t it, fuck him.”

“Well, I sure did that,” Mandy says wryly. She’s quiet again. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and resigned. “I guess some people never get to find anyone for real. I can find people to fuck and maybe be with for a little while, but…” Ian can imagine her shrugging. “I guess I don’t get to be lucky like you and Mickey. It’s okay, though. I’m good alone.”

“Hey,” Ian says. “You’ve always got me. You know that, right?”

“It’s not the same,” she says softly. “But thanks.”

Ian sighs. He feels even more like shit for losing it on Mickey earlier. He should be counting his fucking blessings for having someone who cares. He just can’t handle it, though. Mickey’s always hovering like Ian’s incompetent. Ian had his shit handled before Mickey got out of prison. Has Mickey forgotten that?

“What’s up with you?” Mandy asks. “You sound weird.”

Ian doesn’t know what to say. Complaining about Mickey being too in his business seems like a dick move right now. But Mandy must know how Mickey is. “Just Mickey,” he says. “Kinda hovering, you know?”

Mandy snorts. “No, I don’t,” she says. “He doesn’t do that for anyone but you. You’re the only person he’s ever cared about.” There’s a sliver of hurt there that’s cutting into Ian’s heart.

“He cares about you,” Ian reminds her. How can Mandy even doubt that? “He cares about you so much, Mandy. He worries about you. He misses you.”

“I guess,” she says. She sighs again. “Sorry, I’m just pissy about the Reggie thing.”

_Pissy_. It doesn’t sound like an accurate word for her feelings. If Ian had to guess, he’d say she’s more hurt and maybe even heartbroken than pissy. But she does the same thing Mickey does; they always downplay their own feelings. Knowing why doesn’t make Ian stop hating it.

“Listen, Mandy, you’re amazing,” Ian tells her. “You’re smart and you’re loyal and you get shit done. I can’t wait to meet whoever’s worthy of you. You’re going to be so happy.” She’s not quite as bad as Mickey at taking compliments—Ian isn’t sure there’s anyone on Earth who’s as bad as Mickey—but he doesn’t expect much response.

“If you say so,” she says dubiously.

“You should come visit,” Ian tells her. “We all miss you.”

She laughs a little. “Sharing a room with a seven-year-old might get weird.”

“We can make Mickey share with him and you and me can have a sleepover,” Ian tells her. “Or you could come in with me and Mickey and it’ll feel like old times.”

“You sound kind of sad,” Mandy says. Ian doesn’t know if she’s changing the subject because she doesn’t want to come visit or if she’s actually just worried. “Ian, what’s going on?”

Ian blows out a breath. “Mickey’s just on my case about my meds and stuff.”

“Oh,” Mandy says. “Why? Is shit going down?”

“No,” Ian snaps.

“Hey, don’t fucking bite my head off,” Mandy snaps right back. “I’m not there, so I only know what you tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Ian insists. “Mickey just always thinks something is. I do one little thing different and he thinks I’m having another psychotic break.”

“What’d you do different?” Mandy asks. “Maybe it’s one of those things that comes from our fucked up family.”

“I just ran a few extra miles,” Ian says. “I’m thinking about doing the half-marathon the station puts on in the summer, so I’m kind of feeling out the training. And he’s freaking out.”

“You know he doesn’t do good with change,” Mandy reminds him. “Let him freak out for a week and then he’ll get over it and be fine.”

Ian can’t tell her about the food. He knows she’ll take Mickey’s side. Ian went hungry sometimes as a kid because they didn’t have enough money to get enough food for everyone, but it’s nothing compared to what Mickey and Mandy dealt with. Neither of them understand any kind of moderation with food. When they have food, they eat it, no questions asked. She won’t get it, just like Mickey doesn’t get it.

“You’re probably right,” he says, instead of explaining any of that. There’s a nagging part of him that knows, deep down, he’s making excuses. His headache is from not eating enough. He knows that. But he’s not thinking about any of that.

They chitchat about work and Yevgeny’s new swim class and Mandy’s classes until Ian gets home. After he hangs up with her, Ian sits in the car with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Mickey’s at work and Yev’s at school. Maybe Ian can sneak in another two or three miles. Then he can eat whatever Mickey wants him to for dinner and not feel too guilty.

He gets into the house and is all the way changed into his running clothes before he runs into Svetlana. She narrows her eyes at his running shoes.

“Again?” She asks.

“I’m thinking about a half-marathon,” he says. The lie comes out a lot weaker than it did with Mandy. It’s easier over the phone. Svetlana crosses her arms over her chest. She bites her lip, but she’s never been one to hold back her thoughts.

“You danced,” she says. “Before. Stripping.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, face flushing a little. He’s not embarrassed about it, necessarily, but it’s not something he loves reliving. He’ll never get that body back, anyway, so it’s not like he can revisit that job even if he wanted to.

“I was whore,” she reminds him. “Not same, exactly.”

“Well, I fucked for money more than once,” Ian admits. “Guys at the club would offer me money or drugs and I’d go home with anyone.”

Svetlana purses her lips. “Not good,” she says gently. “Not good for brain when using body for everything.”

Now Ian crosses his arms, too. “What you trying to say?”

“I never thought I could get job in office,” she tells him quietly. “Thought I was just whore. Only good at sex, no brains in here.” She taps her temple. Ian has a lump in his throat. He wishes he could kill her father for putting her on that path. At least Ian did it to himself.

“You have brains,” Ian tells her. “You’re smart.” He thinks Svetlana is amazing. Going through everything she’s been through and doing as well as she is can’t be called anything else. Ian seems to gravitate toward people who’ve been through hell and are doing their best to be better.

“I know,” she says simply. “Now I know. But took long time to learn.”

Ian stares down at his feet. “Yeah.”

“I want you to learn,” she says. She puts her hand on his cheek. “You are more than body. You have brains, good with Yevgeny, make good jokes.” She pats his cheek. “Learn.”

“I’m just running,” he says defensively. He knows she knows how he feels, and maybe she has a point, but he’s so fucking tired of everyone acting like he’s a little kid who doesn’t realize what he’s doing. Maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t give a fuck. Why haven’t they considered that? It’s always poor, crazy Ian, who can’t even tell he’s killing himself so everyone has to help him.

“Okay,” Svetlana says. “Just running.” She smiles at him sadly. “Whatever you say.”

Ian shoves past her and slams the door behind him. None of them have any room to tell him what to do with his own goddamn body. They all want him to stay on the meds so badly, and he’s going to, but there’s got to be some kind of tradeoff here. He _has_ to keep his weight in check and stay healthy to keep his meds working. None of them get it. He rolls out his neck, and then he takes a deep breath and starts to run.

 

“Why’re we going to Fiona’s house?” Yevgeny asks. He’s resolutely avoiding every crack in the sidewalk. It doesn’t make for the smoothest walk home, but Ian doesn’t mind. They’re not in a rush, and he thinks it’s funny and sweet how seriously Yev is taking the whole _don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mama’s back_ thing he learned on the playground. He’d told Ian, horrified, that he’d never want to break Svetlana’s back.

“Well, Dad had a great idea for a present for Fiona’s birthday, but I gotta do some measuring,” Ian tells him. “And since we want it to be a surprise, we’re going while she’s at work so she won’t find out.”

“What’s the present?” Yevgeny asks curiously.

“It’s a surprise,” Ian says. Yevgeny cannot keep secrets. They should probably enjoy that while it lasts, but it can get a little annoying sometimes. They have to avoid telling him what anyone’s getting for their birthday.

“Okay,” Yevgeny says, focusing on the sidewalk again. “Is Liam gonna be home?”

“He should be,” Ian says. “You miss seeing him at school?” Liam moved up to middle school this year.

“Yeah,” Yevgeny says. “Brad said he’s gonna beat me up since Liam’s not here to fight for me anymore.”

“What?” Ian demands. “When did he say that?”

Yevgeny shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“What did you do when he said it?” Ian asks.

“I said I’ll kick his ass all by myself.” He tips his head back and gives Ian a mournful look. “Ian, I can’t kick his ass all by myself.”

Ian fights down a laugh. He knows the responsible parent thing to do in this situation is say he’ll handle it. Maybe he should call Yevgeny’s teacher. But that’s completely against his nature. And Yevgeny’s going to have to learn to stand up for himself eventually. Where they live, it’s a skill that comes around sooner or later.

“How ‘bout this,” Ian says. “After I get the measurements at Fiona’s, we’ll work on punching.”

“Really?” Yevgeny asks.

“Sure,” Ian says. “I didn’t get in as many fights as Dad, but I learned some hand-to-hand stuff for the Army.”

“You were in the Army?” Yevgeny asks, surprised.

“Uh…” Ian hesitates. Technically, Ian Gallagher was never in the Army, but it’s not something he can easily explain. He doesn’t really like to think about it, anyway. “Kind of.”

“That’s cool,” Yevgeny says. “My GI Joe guy fights people all the time.”

Ian doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not sure how cool he thinks the Army is these days, but it would be pretty hypocritical of him to say that. Besides, he doesn’t think a seven-year-old’s up for a nuanced discussion on the exploitation of poor kids who don’t think they have any other options.

Liam’s home when they get to the Gallagher house, and he’s even sitting down and doing his homework when Ian hunts around in the closet for the tape measure. Mickey had some kind of talk with Liam about staying out of trouble and it seems to have actually gotten through to him. Maybe Mickey should be one of those scared-straight counselors for at-risk youth. Ian laughs a little to himself at the thought. Mickey would hate that a lot. But Ian does not hate the active role Mickey’s taken with Ian’s family. It makes his heart feel full.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks as Ian takes measurements.

“Gonna replace the carpet in here for Fiona’s birthday,” Ian tells him. He sees Liam wince, probably remembering the day Ian ripped it all up. Ian lets out a slow breath, counting off in his head. They’ve come a long way. Ian’s come a long way.

“Can I help?” Liam asks.

Ian smiles at him. “You really interested in learning how to lay carpet?”

Liam shrugs. “I’ve never done it before.”

“Yeah, you can help,” Ian promises. “I don’t know when Mickey’s getting the carpet. He knows a guy.”

“Ian, are we gonna punch?” Yevgeny cuts in. “I gotta learn to fight,” he tells Liam. “Brad wants to kick my ass.”

“He’s a pussy,” Liam says. “Bet you get one punch on him and he goes down. He always gives up and cries right away.”

“How often was he trying to kick Yev’s ass?” Ian asks, concerned. They all thought it was kind of a one-time situation that Liam handled, but this sounds like a regular thing,

Liam shrugs. “A lot.”

“Why?” Ian asks Yev. “Why is he always trying to fight you?”

“Brad’s a dick,” Yev says scornfully.

“He hates Yev,” Liam says. “Don’t know what his deal is.”

“Fuck, maybe we should…talk to his parents?” Ian shrugs. Don’t TV parents do that sometimes? That’s where they’re getting most of their parenting guidelines. TV and parenting books Ian reads and then explains to Mickey and Svetlana, who will not read them. Mickey still goes to that parenting class about once a month. Maybe he can ask the teacher.

“If someone rats on me, I kick their ass more,” Liam points out. Ian frowns at him.

“You better not be a bully. It’s one thing to fight when you have to, but don’t go pushing littler kids around.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Mickey already yelled at me.”

Ian huffs. He doubts Mickey meant to yell about it. It’s just that Mickey has one volume and tone and both are constantly set to what most people perceive as argumentative. “Well, good,” Ian says, just as the back door opens and the man in question steps inside.

“Got off early,” he answers Ian’s raised eyebrows. “Tina lets me do whatever the fuck I want since she thinks I’m a sad little pussy now.” He comes over and gives Ian a kiss hello, sliding an arm around Ian’s waist and pulling him in close. Sometimes it’s hard to believe how easily he does that now. He’s even kissed Ian in _public_ at least three times this year.

Mickey ruffles Yevgeny’s hair and elbows Liam. “How was school?”

“Brad wants to kick Yev’s ass again,” Liam reports.

Mickey takes that in and rolls his eyes. “Big tough guy now that you’re not there to knock him around, huh?” Mickey picks Yev up, even though Yev’s getting too big for that, even as small as he is compared to the other kids in class. “What you gonna do about it?”

Yevgeny sighs, little shoulders going all the way up to his ears. “Ian said he’ll teach me to punch.”

Mickey nods. “Alright. Brad probably just needs a good punch to the throat and he’ll quit messing with you.”

“Mick, Liam said Brad tried messing with Yev a bunch last year,” Ian relays. “You know it was more than once?”

Mickey’s eyebrows draw together. He looks at Yevgeny. “What’s that little fucker’s problem? He mad he got a grandpa name?”

“He just says he doesn’t like me,” Yev says with a shrug. “He pushes kids sometimes but he hates me most.”

Mickey chews his lip for a second while he thinks. He looks over at Ian. “There some kind of grown up thing we’re supposed to do about this?”

“Why do you assume I’d know more than you?” Ian asks, amused.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Well, one of us is a productive member of society and one’s a felon, so you do the math.”

“What’s a felon?” Yevgeny asks.

“Means I committed a felony,” Mickey says. “I broke a big law and that’s why I was in the joint so long.”

“What law did you break?” Yevgeny asks curiously.

“Mm…” Mickey looks at Ian again. Ian winces sympathetically and shrugs. They can’t dodge the question forever, but it’s not going to be easy to explain.

“We can talk about it when you’re older,” Ian tries.

“When?” Yevgeny presses.

“Don’t know,” Ian admits. “Depends when Dad wants to talk about it.”

Yevgeny shrugs. He probably already knows by now if it’s up to when Mickey wants to talk about it, it’s never happening. “Are you going to show me how to punch now?”

“Yeah,” Ian says. “Dad can help.”

“You gotta learn short guy fighting,” Mickey says apologetically. “You’re gonna be short your whole life.”

“I’m growing!” Yevgeny protests, wounded.

Mickey huffs. “Yeah, you’re growing, but you’re still shorter than everyone else, huh?”

“I’m taller than _three_ girls.”

Ian hides a laugh behind a cough. Mickey doesn’t hide his. “Yeah, I was only ever taller than the girls. Then they all started growing more and I got left behind again.”

“You’re about the same height as Mandy,” Ian offers. It’s kind of a lie. Mandy’s a little taller than Mickey. Mickey’s never seemed too sensitive about it, though. Ian knows some short guys who are super touchy about being short. Maybe Mickey _is_ touchy about it but Ian could never tell since he’s always touchy about so many other things.

But Mickey just shrugs. “Don’t matter if you’re small if you fight right. Helps if you bring a piece along.”

“A piece of what?” Yevgeny asks. Mickey makes a face as he realizes he can’t tell Yevgeny to get a gun.

“Cake,” he recovers.

“Cake helps in a fight?” Yevgeny sounds confused.

“Sure,” Ian jumps in to help. “If you give him cake he might change his mind about kicking your ass.” Yevgeny accepts this easily. “Okay, Yev, come here.”

Before they can get started, though, they hear Debbie yelling from outside. “I said go away!” She sounds more annoyed than anything else, but Mickey’s across the room before anyone else can even move. Mickey’s always had fast reflexes. He’d once told Ian with a shrug that in the Milkovich house, “You learn to move fast or you die.” Ian had laughed at the time. It doesn’t make him laugh anymore.

Mickey throws the door open and Ian rushes over in time to see Debbie yanking her shoulder away from Frank. Ian makes a disgusted sound. Mickey steps out and puts himself a step in front of Debbie. Frank’s not much of a physical threat these days, but it still gives Ian a rush of warmth to see Mickey ready to step in and protect Debbie.

“Fuck you doing, Frank?” Mickey asks evenly, arms crossed over his chest. Frank can’t seem to focus his eyes, which is becoming more and more common even when he isn’t drunk. He may have extra time thanks to that dead kid’s liver a while back, but he can’t get a brain transplant. He’s soaking wet, and the wind shifts and Ian realizes, stomach churning at the whiff he catches, that’s not water.

“You’re not one of mine,” Frank says. He blinks at Ian. “Neither are you, actually.” He laughs at himself. Ian rolls his eyes.

“Is that Frank?” Liam asks from behind Ian. Ian grits his teeth. Liam is still young enough to have a sliver of hope that Frank could change. They all went through it, and they all learned the hard way Frank will never change. Ian wishes he could shield Liam from the inevitable letdown.

“That one’s mine,” Frank says. “Against all odds.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ian says. Liam doesn’t need that kind of manipulation. “Go away.”

“This is my house,” Frank says. “I need my clothes.”

“You don’t have any clothes here,” Debbie points out. “We haven’t even seen you in months.”

“Notice you didn’t come looking,” Frank says, all miffed about it.

“Why would we?” Ian asks.

“My own children have turned their backs on me,” Frank slurs. “What kind of ungrateful bastards do that?”

Ian and Debbie exchange an eyeroll. “Just like we were ungrateful bastards when we wouldn’t let you blow all our rent money on coke?” Debbie asks.

“No, I’m clean now,” Frank says. “I’m just a sad old man who needs a shower.”

Ian snorts. “Oh, come on.”

Frank weaves on his feet a little. “You know, my wife died.”

The air immediately goes taught. Debbie’s shoulders tighten and Ian feels his stomach drop a little. “Can’t use that as an excuse when it was five years ago,” he tells Frank. He would’ve thought even Frank had a line when it came to exploiting Monica’s death, but maybe Ian still thinks more of Frank than he deserves. Frank stares at Ian for a minute.

“You—you’re the one who got your mother’s crazy.”

“Nope.” Mickey gets right up into Frank’s space. Ian doesn’t know how he’s handling the smell. It must go back to growing up in that horror house. “Go the fuck away, Frank.”

“Get a good look, son,” Frank sneers into Mickey’s face. “This is your future. That one—” He points at Ian. “The crazy gets too strong, you know. And he’ll run off and you’ll be alone. You’ll be just like me. He’ll die soon, too, when he can’t keep fighting over the pills and his own personality. I have him down for stuffing a gun in his mouth. He seems the type.”

Mickey doesn’t punch Frank, which is kind of surprising. His fists are clenched at his sides. He does spit at Frank’s feet, though. “You’re gonna turn around, and you’re gonna leave,” Mickey tells him, voice barely restrained. “And you’re gonna shut your fucking mouth and leave all of ‘em the fuck alone. Do you hear me?”

“What, you don’t fight anymore?” Frank taunts. “I remember a good bruising or two from you. Prison really reformed you, did it?”

“I don’t know what kinda shit’s rolling around on you,” Mickey says scornfully. “But I see your ass around here again, or I hear you running your fucking mouth, I’ll put on gloves and handle it.”

Frank barks out a laugh, but he takes a few steps back. “Monny liked the thugs, too. He’s always been the most like her. Give up the pills again yet or are you still pretending to be a happy, fat, family man?” He directs that at Ian. Mickey shoves Frank, who puts his hands up. “I’m going, _sir_. You’ll have to excuse me since I’m now _elderly_ and _infirm_.”

“Yeah, say the word and I’ll be happy to stick your ass in the ground,” Mickey says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Frank’s retreating back. Ian can see him clenching his jaw and breathing hard. Debbie’s squeezing Ian’s shoulder. He wants to tell them all to relax, but he can’t get his voice to work.

He doesn’t know why it always hits him so hard when Frank brings up Monica. It’s not a secret that Ian inherited her bipolar disorder. They all know she had it and they all know he does, too. But the comparisons scare him. He ran off with her twice; he knows exactly how alike they are. Monica tried to stay on meds over and over. She always ended up off them. That scares Ian.

“Hey,” Mickey says. Ian jumps a little. He didn’t realize Mickey had come back over. He’s right up in Ian’s space, face close to Ian’s as he looks into Ian’s eyes. “Come on.”

He grabs onto Ian’s sleeve and tugs him back into the house. Debbie’s got her big, worried eyes on. Yevgeny’s standing behind Liam, holding onto the hem of his shirt worriedly. Ian’s stomach flips when he looks at Yev. How long before Yev looks at Ian like Ian used to look at Monica?

The thought almost makes him throw up. Mickey pulls Ian into the living room and sits him down on the couch. Ian’s not sure entirely what he expects from Mickey, but it isn’t Mickey sitting down so close to Ian he’s practically in his lap, which is what happens. Mickey puts both hands on Ian’s face and makes Ian look at him.

“Okay?” He asks quietly. Ian cuts his eyes over to where Debbie’s herding Liam and Yevgeny upstairs. “No,” Mickey says, still speaking so softly. He’s only talking to Ian right now. No one else gets to hear this. No one else gets this specific kind of concern, not even Yevgeny or Mandy. He shakes his head a little. “We ain’t worrying about them right now. We’re worrying about you.”

“I…” Ian wants to say he’s fine. He wants to tell Mickey to stop treating him like a baby. But Ian _isn’t_ fine. He knows he isn’t. And if he pushes Mickey away right now, he’ll be doing the same shit he’s been doing since he got his diagnosis. He’ll be shutting Mickey out. They’re supposed to be working on this. He promised Mickey. Hell, he promised _himself_. They’re never going to work their shit out and get married if Ian keeps shutting Mickey out.

“You don’t gotta talk,” Mickey assures him. “But you’re gonna sit here and deal for a second. You get a choice if you want me on you, but either way, you’re gonna sit here and process.”

It almost makes Ian laugh. This is Mickey being supportive. He knows Ian’s natural instinct is to shove it down, ignore it, keep moving, and he knows Ian needs to actually sit back and think through what just happened. So to Mickey, the solution is to sit on Ian for as long as it takes for Ian to let himself process what just happened.

“What’re you gonna do if I want you to stay?” Ian checks.

“I’m gonna fucking cuddle you, bitch,” Mickey says. He’s completely serious. Some of the throbbing in Ian’s chest is easing up.

“Okay,” Ian says.

“Okay,” Mickey echoes. He stretches back and wraps his legs around Ian, pulling him down to lie against Mickey’s chest. Ian hides his face in Mickey’s shirt and breathes.

“I’m not Monica,” he whispers. “I’m not going off my meds.”

They’re both quiet for a second. “But?” Mickey asks in a small voice.

Ian inhales sharply. Of course Mickey hears the _but_ in Ian’s voice. “But maybe he’s right.”

Mickey takes his time answering. “Which part?” He finally asks. Ian can hear the undercurrent of absolute terror in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Ian admits. Mickey’s heartbeat is not steady and comforting right now. Ian’s ear is pressed up against Mickey’s chest, and he can hear Mickey’s heart slamming around his ribs.

“Okay,” Mickey breathes. “Uh. Okay.”

“I’m not saying I’m suicidal right now,” Ian tries to comfort him. He knows Mickey’s going to latch onto that _right now_ , but Ian doesn’t think it’s honest to make that statement unconditional. He can’t promise it’s never going to happen. Mickey knows the stats as well as Ian.

“Good,” Mickey says, breathing easing up just a little.

“But…” Ian sighs. “I _am_ a lot like Monica.”

“You’re not Monica,” Mickey says sharply. “And I’m sure as fuck not Frank. Remember? We already talked about this.”

“Yeah,” Ian agrees dubiously.

“Frank didn’t want Monica on meds, right?” Mickey points out. “He wanted her crazy.”

“That’s true,” Ian admits. “He always said she wasn’t herself on the meds.”

“Yeah, well, we all know he’s a dumb fuck.” Mickey’s barely holding back his panic. “Monica never even made it to stable meds, right? She always gave ‘em up before they leveled out. So they didn’t even know she could be herself on them.”

Mickey’s right. Ian can’t remember Monica ever staying on meds past the zombie phase. He understands all too well the inclination to flush them at that point. Everything feels slow and muted and flat. It had been terrifying to think that was going to be the rest of his life. But when he complained, Dr. Saria adjusted his dosages. When that didn’t work, they switched types. It took a long time, and Ian’s not going to be scot-free for the rest of his life, but he’s stable now.

He knows Mickey’s panicking right now, and he knows Mickey’s terrified and feels out of his depth. But Mickey’s helping. Pushing Ian not to bury this, making sure it couldn’t fester, was the right call.

“Would you stay with me if I went off my meds?” Ian asks. Mickey’s breathing fast. His hand on Ian’s back spasms for a second.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “If it were just me…yeah, of course.”

“But not with Yevgeny,” Ian finishes for him.

Mickey’s arms tighten around Ian. “We’re not finding that out.” Mickey doesn’t know. He’s being honest, not saying yes or no, because Mickey doesn’t know how he’d handle it. Ian appreciates the honesty, but it scares him a little. He needs to know Yev’s going to be safe.

“No,” Ian agrees. “I didn’t mean I want to go off them. I just…I need to hear you say it.”

“That I’d stay?” Mickey asks.

“No. That I can’t be around Yev without them.”

“It’s not—Ian, I know you’d never hurt him.”

“I would though,” Ian corrects softly. “I might not hurt him physically, but seeing that, living with it…” He shakes his head. “It fucks you up. So you gotta say it, Mick. Tell me.”

Mickey swallows hard. Ian can hear it in the silence. He doesn’t know how Debbie's keeping Liam and Yev so quiet, but he can’t hear anything from upstairs. All he can hear is Mickey’s pounding heart and blood rushing in his own ears. He has no plans to go off his meds. Not right now. But he knows that could change in a week or a month or a year. And if they have this conversation now, while he’s still good, maybe it’ll help keep him on track.

“You can’t be around the kid if you’re not on meds.” Mickey’s voice breaks while he says it. “Sorry.”

“It’s the right call,” Ian assures him. He pulls himself up so he can kiss Mickey. “Thank you. I feel better knowing it.”

“How do you know I’ll stick to it?” Mickey asks. He’s not meeting Ian’s eyes. Mickey’s chosen Ian over Yevgeny every time he’s had to make that choice. Being a father wasn’t ever something Mickey wanted, and as a teenager who got stuck with a child who wasn’t even born out of _consensual_ sex, he hadn’t felt much pull toward Yevgeny. It’s different now. Ian knows Mickey would do anything to protect Yevgeny. But Ian’s been a soft spot for Mickey for a long time now, and it goes against everything in Mickey’s nature to say he’ll do anything that causes Ian pain.

“Well,” Ian says slowly. “For one thing, I know _you_ know I’d hate myself if I messed Yev up the way Monica messed me up.” Mickey’s face twitches like he wants to cut in, but Ian won’t let him. “You can think of it as doing it for me. Keeping Yev safe for me. And if that doesn’t work…” Ian shrugs. “I’m gonna make Svetlana promise me, too, and we both know she’ll stick to it even if my magic dick won’t let you.”

Mickey laughs a little, like Ian wanted, but his breath is hitching. “Can I go with you to see your shrink?” He asks.

Ian’s completely taken aback. Mickey’s gone with him to see Dr. Saria a few times, and Ian’s gone with Mickey to the free clinic a time or two. But Mickey’s never asked to go with him. It’s always Ian who puts the suggestion out there.

“Yeah,” Ian says. “Of course you can.”

“I know I said I’d try not to be so annoying,” Mickey starts. His voice is shaking.

“Hey,” Ian cuts him off. “I told you I was going to be more open about the therapy stuff. I love you, Mick. You’re the most important person in the world to me. I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t ask about therapy or how I’m doing. You always, always can. There’s nothing about me I want to keep secret from you.”

Mickey swipes a hand across his nose. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Ian admits. Mickey’s arms tighten around him like Mickey can squeeze the fear out of him. If anyone could, Ian would believe it’s Mickey. Ian buries his face in Mickey’s chest. There’s nothing more comforting to him than lying in Mickey’s arms, breathing him in. This is the safest place Ian can imagine. Lying here with Mickey, Ian can believe he’ll stay on track with his meds forever, he’ll always be healthy and they’ll be happy and nothing bad will happen. It’s unrealistic, and the feeling only lasts for a little while before all the fears and doubts creep in, but Mickey holds them back. He’s always been ready to fight at Ian’s side. Ian knows Mickey’s afraid he can’t do anything to help when this kind of fight doesn’t involve physical violence, but Mickey sells himself short. Mickey helps Ian fight in every way possible.

Mickey makes _Ian_ want to keep fighting. And that’s one of the most important ways Mickey could ever help.

 

“Oh, hi, Mickey.” Dr. Saria sounds a little surprised to see Mickey, but he makes sure to keep his face open and pleased. Ian spent an entire session once detailing to Dr. Saria how great Mickey actually is at picking up nonverbal cues, even though Mickey himself would never think he’s good at it. Dr. Saria’s probably tired of hearing how amazing Mickey is at everything, because Ian has a tendency to gush. He can’t help himself sometimes. Mickey can’t really handle it if Ian gushes to him, and no one else gets it. Dr. Saria doesn’t have a choice but to listen.

Mickey just nods, chewing at his lips but not saying anything. Dr. Saria knows better than to offer a hand, and Mickey doesn’t extend one of his own. They all sit down, and Mickey puts his hand on Ian’s knee. Dr. Saria may not recognize the importance of the gesture, but Ian does. Therapy is one of the hardest things for Mickey, even when this is technically Ian’s session and not his own. When he’s feeling vulnerable, Mickey tends to curl into himself and get more defensive. But putting his hand on Ian’s knee, here in a therapist’s office where he feels least secure, tells Ian Mickey is focusing everything he has on making sure Ian’s okay. He’s supporting Ian despite all his own fears. Ian feels like his heart could burst. He puts his hand over Mickey’s and clutches on.

“I had a hard week,” Ian admits, talking mainly to his own knees.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dr. Saria asks evenly.

Ian swallows hard. He glances at Mickey. Mickey shrugs at him, letting him know it’s his own decision. Mickey isn’t going to push him one way or the other.

“We saw my dad,” Ian says. “And he said a lot of, uh…negative things. About me. And compared me to my mother in negative ways.”

Dr. Saria stills a little. He knows Monica is a minefield for Ian. “I’m sorry that happened,” he says. “Do you want to tell me what kind of things he said?”

Ian squeezes Mickey’s fingers. It’s harder to repeat this with Mickey here. He wishes he could take the memory from Mickey completely so Mickey wouldn’t worry. “He said I’m going to kill myself when I can’t pretend the meds are helping anymore.”

Ian can see the muscle in Dr. Saria’s jaw work as he clenches his teeth. “Do you think you’re just pretending the meds are working?”

“No,” Ian says honestly. “I can feel the difference.”

“Okay,” Dr. Saria says. “Good.”

“I…” Ian falters a little and Mickey’s hand on his knee tightens. It grounds him. “I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want to go off the meds and run off and…and just not care about anyone who loves me. She was always so fucking _selfish_. I’m just…” Ian grabs a tissue from the box on Dr. Saria’s desk. He’s not crying, but he can feel the threat of tears coming. “Everyone’s always said I’m the most like her. So I feel like—I must be selfish, too. And it’s just a matter of time before I end up like her.”

Ian can see Mickey practically vibrating with the need to contradict him, but Mickey’s biting his tongue. Literally; he can see Mickey literally biting his tongue. Mickey has a hard time listening to Ian doubt himself, but he’s also trying to respect that this is Ian’s session. Ian loves him so much it hurts. He rubs his thumb against Mickey’s, trying to calm Mickey down. It helps calm himself down, too.

“Do you think Monica spent a lot of time worrying about whether she was being selfish?” Dr. Saria asks.

“No,” Ian says. “I know she didn’t. I ran off with her twice and I know she didn’t even think about anyone else.”

“When you were with her, what did you think about?”

Ian takes a shaky breath. “The first time, before I knew what was happening, I didn’t think about how running off hurt anyone else. I was just like her. But the second time…” He squeezes Mickey’s hand. “Thought about Mickey a lot. Worried about how I was ruining his life. My brothers and sisters, too, especially the younger ones. Wondered if it would be better for everyone if I just—” He cuts himself off and shrugs. His vision is blurry with tears now, but he doesn’t want them to fall. He doesn’t want to say the next part out loud with Mickey here.

Dr. Saria doesn’t have that hurdle. “Just died?” He asks quietly, and Mickey stands up to pace. His hands are shaking.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking at his feet as he walks. “I can leave if you want.”

It’s tempting. Ian hates that Mickey’s hearing this. He wants to hide this part from Mickey. He doesn’t want Mickey to have even more to worry about, and he doesn’t really want anyone knowing this about him. But he promised himself he wasn’t going to hide from Mickey anymore. He told Mickey no secrets. And it’s probably good for Mickey to know this shit. Just in case.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Ian tells him.

“I can’t sit down,” Mickey says apologetically. He finally meets Ian’s eyes and Ian sees tears in Mickey’s eyes. “I have to—”

“I know,” Ian tells him. “It’s fine.”

Mickey looks at Dr. Saria nervously. Dr. Saria nods. “If it doesn’t bother Ian, it doesn’t bother me,” he promises. He turns back to Ian. “Do you still think anyone would be better off if you died?”

Ian ignores the harsh breath Mickey takes. “No,” he says confidently, and now Mickey breathes a sigh of relief. “I know how much it would hurt my family.”

“Good,” Dr. Saria says.

“So you’re saying I’m not selfish like Monica because I think about how what happens to me affects my family?” Ian asks.

Dr. Saria smiles a little. “I didn’t say anything, Ian. But I think you already knew that.”

“I don’t want to be like her,” Ian says desperately.

“Okay,” Dr. Saria says. “So don’t.”

“It’s not that easy,” Ian protests incredulously.

“Oh, I know that,” Dr. Saria says. “But I also know you’re one of the most determined people I’ve ever met, Ian. If you make your mind up about something, you’ll make sure it happens. So decide you’re not going to be like Monica, and then we’ll figure out what you need to do to make sure you stick to that.”

Ian wipes his nose. He’s not quite crying, but he kind of is. Enough that his nose is starting to run. He pulls out a new tissue and holds it over his shoulder to Mickey. He knows without looking Mickey’s bawling by now. He cries a lot these days. Ian knows it makes him feel kind of insecure, but Ian loves it. He loves that Mickey’s learning to feel safe enough to let his emotions out. Mickey takes the tissue, even though Ian knows he’s probably not going to use it. He’s more of a sleeve kind of guy. Ian just wants Mickey to know Ian realizes how upset all this is making him.

“Okay,” Ian says. “I guess I can try that.”

“Okay,” Dr. Saria echoes, smiling at him. “We’ll work on that.”

Mickey sits down beside Ian again. “Tell him the other thing,” he whispers in Ian’s ear.

“What?” Ian asks.

“Ian,” Mickey breathes. “Come on. The food thing.”

Ian can feel his face burning. Mickey’s right that he needs to tell Dr. Saria. It’s just embarrassing that Mickey has to sit here and monitor him. Ian realizes this is probably why Mickey wanted to come with him. He wanted to make sure Ian told Dr. Saria. He feels like a kid who just got caught doing something he’s not supposed to. He feels fucking stupid.

“Ian?” Dr. Saria prompts. “Is something wrong?”

Ian swallows hard. “I…haven’t been eating much,” he admits jerkily.

“And the running,” Mickey reminds him quietly. He won’t look at Ian or Dr. Saria. Ian can tell he feels almost as shitty as Ian does right now, but he’s sticking to his guns. A distant part of Ian is glad about that. This is Mickey taking care of him again, even if it means Ian himself is going to be pissed. Ian knows, without having to ask and without any desire to test his theory, that Mickey would still care about Ian’s health even if Ian left him again right now.

“And I’ve been running a lot again.”

Dr. Saria looks concerned. “Do you think it’s the same kind of body image issues we’ve discussed before or is there a different reason?”

Ian rubs his eyes. He sighs. “The same shit as before,” he says. “I mean, some guy at a baseball game called me _butterball_. It was a long time ago, though. Last summer. My dad called me fat the other day, too, actually, but I was already doing it by then.”

“Can you think of anything more recently that could’ve triggered these feelings coming back?” Dr. Saria asks.

Ian sighs. He was lying awake last night contemplating this, and he’s pretty sure he knows what sent him spiraling. He doesn’t want to say it, though. He doesn’t want to talk about it and he definitely doesn’t want Mickey to hear it. This is therapy, though. The whole point is to talk about the bad shit.

“We want to get married,” he says quietly, avoiding looking at Mickey at all. “But, uh, all the shit I pulled means we need more time before M—before we feel secure enough to do it.”

Mickey’s breathing is loud and shaky. Ian knows he’s immediately taken that to heart and is blaming himself already. But right now, Ian needs to focus on himself. This is his therapy session, after all, and he needs to talk this through with Dr. Saria.

Dr. Saria nods. “That could definitely trigger old insecurities.”

“It’s just…” Ian clears his throat. “I can’t do anything to fix the stuff I did in the past. I can’t make up for how fucking bad I treated him. I can’t make time go any faster. But I can make myself look better.”

“You already look better,” Mickey hisses, teeth clenched. To anyone who doesn’t him, he’d just sound angry, but Ian can hear the desperation in his voice. “You hear me fucking complaining? Why’s it matter what anyone else thinks of your body if I get hot just looking at you?”

“It’s not about anyone else, Mick,” Ian says sadly. “It’s about how _I_ feel looking at myself. And it’s not even about you liking how I look, either. It’s…” He shrugs. “It’s me feeling bad and thinking my body’s all I got, you know? I fucked up our relationship, but at least I can look good for you.”

“But you _already do_ ,” Mickey insists.

“Not as good as I used to,” Ian points out.

“I don’t fucking care about used to!” Mickey yells.

“But I do,” Ian tells him simply. “I’m fucked up, too, you know. It’s not just you.”

Mickey takes a deep breath. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Can’t I be double fucked up so you’re not fucked up at all?”

Ian laughs a little through his tears. Mickey’s almost joking, but Ian knows he’s serious, too. “Sorry, don’t think it works that way.” He sniffles and turns back to Dr. Saria. “I thought I was over this shit.” He realizes he’s swearing more than usual. It’s Mickey. Ian always gets more South Side when Mickey’s around.

“Unfortunately, it’s not something you just _get over_ ,” Dr. Saria points out. “You’ll probably deal with it to some extent your whole life.”

“Fucking therapy is bullshit,” Mickey bursts out. “You tell us all this shit that’s wrong with us and then just tell us we gotta deal with it forever.”

Dr. Saria raises his eyebrows. Ian appreciates how calm he’s staying. If he didn’t, Mickey would get worse. Ian wonders how Kim takes it when Mickey lashes out like this. Ian knows not to take it personally, and Mickey’s been working so hard not to take out his shit on Ian. Plus, when he does lash out at Ian, he spends a _long_ time making up for it in ways Ian knows he is _definitely_ not doing for anyone else. It’s not even always sex. Sometimes it’s literally just lying together in their bed, wrapped up and swapping secrets they’ve never told anyone else. Mickey’s more likely to have sex with someone else than he is to share that kind of intimacy. Ian’s not worried about him doing either, though.

“The point of therapy is to identify problems and find coping strategies,” Dr. Saria points out. “From what I understand, it’s been helping you.”

Mickey flushes and casts a look at Ian that’s half-pleased and half-worried. “You talk about me?”

“Some days it’s all he talks about,” Dr. Saria says, mock-wearily. “I’ve heard quite a lot about how wonderful you are.”

Ian grins over at Mickey. “Yeah, Mick. I’m your biggest fan.”

Mickey’s blushing. Ian doesn’t really expect to get a response, but Mickey bowls him over by shooting back, “Yeah, well, I’m yours, so we’re even.”

Dr. Saria smiles at them. “I have to say, I’m really pleased with how good you are to each other.” He looks serious again. “Ian, we need to come up with some strategies to help you get back on track with your health. Have you considered the eating disorder group therapy I suggested?”

Ian puts his hands over his face and sinks low in the chair. It makes him feel so stupid to need any of this. He _knows_ he has to eat. He knows a lot about the human body at this point. It’s his fucking job. He knows it’s more important for him to take his meds than to have his six-pack back. He knows Mickey loves him no matter what and he knows he has other qualities besides his body to offer to people. It’s just hard to keep that in mind when another shirt gets too tight around the middle and when the laughter goes out of Mickey’s face when Ian reminds him of something shitty from before.

“I don’t know,” Ian says. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Dr. Saria says easily. “What can we do in the meantime?”

Ian sighs. “Well, I was talking to Svetlana the other day about all this—”

“You were?” Mickey interrupts. He sure got over his shyness with Dr. Saria easily.

“Yeah,” Ian says. “She knows about thinking you only have your body to offer.”

Mickey’s face darkens and he clenches his jaw. “Okay.”

“She was saying she used to think that way, too, and it made me mad. I didn’t want her to ever think that about herself. So I guess—I don’t know, I can try to remember that I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel that way, so I should be easier on myself.”

“That’s good,” Dr. Saria encourages him. “Sometimes it’s hard to have empathy for ourselves but it’s easier to have it for someone else.”

Ian nods. “And then I started thinking…I mean, everything we do and say goes into Yev’s head, you know?” Ian’s throat gets tight. “What if he sees me acting like this and he thinks—he thinks that’s how it should be? If he follows my example and he hates himself…I couldn’t stand that.”

Mickey’s squeezing Ian’s hand hard. Ian isn’t sure what’s distressing him more: the thought of Ian hating himself, or the thought of Yev following that path, too.

“I know I can only get better for myself,” Ian says. “But I don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to be ready to do it for myself. Is it okay if I get started by thinking of Yev and Mickey and Svetlana and Debbie and Liam?”

Lip’s always had his brain over his body. Ian knows that’s caused some problems with him, but at least he’s not fucking starving himself. Carl has never seemed to have any body image issues. Ian knows for a fact Fiona has; she worked all those shitty jobs where guys were groping at her and watching her tits way too intently. But instead of embracing it and enjoying the attention and internalizing it like Ian did, Fiona turned the other way. She gets savage with any man who makes the mistake of pawing at her.

“I think that’s a perfectly good way to start,” Dr. Saria tells him. Ian knows him pretty well by now, and he can tell Dr. Saria’s proud of him. “We can work on the rest of it as we go along.”

When their session ends and Ian and Mickey are leaving, Mickey blows Ian away again by turning back to Dr. Saria and looking him right in the eye to say, “Thank you.”

Dr. Saria nods at him. “Of course.”

The ride home is quiet. Mickey drives, because he must think Ian needs the break. But he drives one-handed and doesn’t let go of Ian’s hand the entire time. When they get home, Mickey puts the car in park and they sit there silently for a minute.

“Do I make it worse acting like everyone just wants your body?” Mickey asks quietly. “Like the kid’s teacher saying you’re nice and I said it’s about your ass?”

Ian considers this. He didn’t notice anything consciously, but apparently his subconscious is the bigger problem here. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I don’t know if anything really makes it worse or better. I think it’s just…” He shrugs. “Here in my head.”

“She probably _does_ think you’re nice,” Mickey says. “You are.”

“I try to be,” Ian says.

“I wish I could make it better,” Mickey says softly. “I wish I could go back and kick all their asses for making you feel that way.”

Ian huffs a little laugh. “You kicked a lot of their asses anyway,” he reminds Mickey. Mickey laughs a little, too.

“They deserved it.”

“Yeah, probably,” Ian agrees.

They’re quiet again. Mickey twists to look at Ian. “Hey,” he says. “Uh, you said it annoys you to have me on your case about meds because no one thinks you can do it on your own.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, since he’s not holding anything back anymore. “It makes me feel like everyone thinks I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Mickey promises him. “But you’re _not_ on your own, Ian. I mean, that’s the fucking point, right? It’s not like I think you _can’t_ handle all this shit alone. You did it fine without me for years. But now I’m here. And I…” He shrugs. “I want to help you handle it.”

Ian can feel himself getting teary-eyed again. “Oh,” he says. He never really thought of it that way. He knew Mickey worried because he cared, but it didn’t actually occur to Ian that Mickey wasn’t just worrying; he was trying to take an active role in Ian’s mental health because he wanted to be included. He wanted to be fighting at Ian’s side again.

“I mean, tell me to fuck off if that’s still annoying,” Mickey says. “You get to decide.”

“No,” Ian chokes out. “I understand now. I know what you’re saying.”

“I just want to fucking…” Mickey shrugs again. “I don’t fucking know. Support you or whatever the fuck.”

Ian starts laughing. It’s such a Mickey way to phrase it. The more _fucks_ a sentence has, the stronger Mickey feels. It probably wouldn’t be considered romance to anyone else. But Ian knows Mickey well enough to know this is him holding out his heart. In some ways, this is Mickey offering marriage again. This is Mickey saying he wants to be side-by-side with Ian in the worst part of Ian’s life.

Ian leans forward and kisses Mickey. “You’re gonna have to watch me,” he warns. “Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing the too much running and not enough eating thing. And I’m still gonna get annoyed when you try to talk to me about it. I’m gonna get mad and say shit I shouldn’t.”

Mickey nods. “Good, then it won’t just be me feeling guilty for saying shit.”

Ian laughs again. “I think we should probably work on not saying shit we regret.”

“Duh,” Mickey says. “But I’m trash and you’re crazy. It’s gonna take a while for it to stick.”

Ian kisses him again. “You’re getting so romantic in your old age.”

“And you’re getting fucking emotional,” Mickey says, which is completely hilarious because this is the first time Ian’s shed one tear in months and Mickey flat out _weeps_ at least once per day. “Need my sleeve for your nose, crybaby?”

“I’m taking that as you calling me baby,” Ian informs him. Mickey cracks up. Ian sighs a little. “I’m trying, Mick,” he says. “I’m trying to know I’m enough just how I am.”

Mickey stops laughing. He holds onto Ian’s face and just looks at him for a minute. He clears his throat and his eyes cut away, so Ian pays attention. “When I was locked up.” He stops and just breathes for a second. Ian’s heart aches. “Ian, I didn’t stop thinking about you. Not ever. I mean, I thought about us fucking. A lot.” He smiles a little and Ian laughs. “Thought about that every time I jerked off. But that wasn’t—I mean, I wasn’t thinking, _I miss Ian’s fucking abs_. Well, alright, I thought it once or twice. But mostly I was thinking about…I don’t fucking know. I missed your smile and those fucking stupid jokes you always make and I missed…I missed laying in bed and hearing you breathing. I missed you and Mandy ganging up on me and I missed seeing you hold the kid and making Svet laugh and I just—I missed _you_ , Ian. It wasn’t about your body, okay? I know me saying it doesn’t just make it better but I can keep saying it. I’ll make you a fucking list of everything I love about you, but it’s gonna be fucking long. If you want me to call you baby, I’ll do that. Just—I mean, whatever you need, Ian.”

Ian presses his forehead against Mickey’s. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you,” he admits. “I treated you like shit and you’re still here being so good to me. You deserve better.”

“Hey, cut that shit out,” Mickey snaps. “Fuck, Ian, maybe you think I’m good to you now but I sure fucking wasn’t at the beginning of all this, huh? I treated you like shit over and over and you kept coming back because you _knew_ I cared underneath all the bullshit. You cared enough to find that, Ian. And I’d be fucking dead if you didn’t. That’s a goddamn fact. You sure don’t treat me like shit now. Wasn’t even your fault before. And you didn’t fuck up our relationship, okay? I think we’re doing better than we ever have. No secrets anymore, right? We take care of each other and we talk to each other. So I don’t know what I deserve and I don’t fucking care. I want _you_.”

“I want you, too,” Ian tells him, choked up. “I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t given me another chance.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything for a minute. He has a hand around the back of Ian’s neck and he’s stroking his thumb across the hollow of Ian’s throat. “I think we’d both be okay,” he finally says. “Just like…neither of us would jump off a fucking building or anything. We’re different than we were. In a good way. I think it’s good, though. We could live without each other. But we don’t want to. So we won’t.”

Sometimes, Ian wishes everyone else in the world could see how caring and profound Mickey is. He hides it so deep inside himself, but Mickey says things like this to Ian all the time. But on the other hand, Ian is selfishly glad he’s the only one who gets to see this. He’s the only one who truly knows Mickey this well. This part of Mickey is just for Ian.

“Thank you,” Ian says. “Thank you for staying with me.”

Mickey gives him a little smile and then leans in for a soft kiss. “You’re never getting rid of me.” He rolls his eyes a little, then adds, “Baby.”

Ian laughs. He leans in for another kiss, and then another, and another. He can never have just one kiss with Mickey. “You don’t have to call me baby,” he says benevolently.

“Thank fuck,” Mickey says between kisses. “We both know that wasn’t actually going to happen.”

Ian cracks up again. It’s not like everything’s fixed. Pretty much nothing is, actually. It’s going to take a lot of work to fix things, and it’s work Ian mostly has to do himself. Mickey can’t do the work for him, though Ian knows he would if he could. Fiona can’t do it, Lip can’t do it, no one can do it but Ian. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to suck, and Ian’s going to resent everyone sometimes.

But he’s not going to be doing the work alone. Mickey’s going to be at his side the whole way. And when he’s got Mickey at his side, Ian knows he can do anything.

 

“Okay,” Ian says nervously, glancing at the building. “This is it.”

Mickey’s biting his thumbnail. “You want me to wait here?”

“No,” Ian says immediately. “You have that interview.”

Mickey’s PO got him a job interview at a garage, fixing up cars. It’s not his own repair shop, but it’s still fixing things, and Mickey likes working on cars. The interview’s pretty much a formality; Hawkins told Mickey all he had to do was show up and show his skills and he’d get the job. It’s a full time job with flexible hours, and best of all, Mickey’ll be eligible for health insurance after two months. Like hell Ian’s letting him miss this interview.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey breathes, glancing around at the people heading into the building. “You need me to come back, just say the word.”

Ian smiles at him. He’s anxious about this meeting, and he still feels a little off-balance. He had to fight to eat the whole breakfast Mickey made him this morning, every bite sending his brain into panic mode as he contemplated calories in and calories out, and now his brain’s telling him he could blow off this meeting after Mickey leaves and go run an extra four miles instead.

But Ian’s not going to do that. He and Mickey made a pact to take care of each other, but to take care of each other, they also have to take care of themselves. Besides, Ian isn’t just doing this for Mickey. He’s doing it for Fiona and Lip and Debbie and Carl and Liam. He's doing it for Mandy. He’s doing it for Svetlana. He’s doing it for Yev.

He’s doing it for himself.

He pulls Mickey in for a kiss and Mickey doesn’t hesitate or look around first. “I’m okay,” Ian promises. “I’m going in. Good luck with your interview. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Mickey says, eyes scanning the parking lot to see how many people are going into this meeting. “Lotta people going in, huh?”

“Must be a good meeting,” Ian says, trying to stay positive. His heart’s in his throat. “People must keep coming back.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, even though positivity is really not in his nature. Ian kisses him again, clinging a little. Mickey squeezes him tight, and then he takes a step back. “You go handle your shit,” Mickey says. “I’ll go handle mine. And then tonight I’m gonna blow you until your brain melts.”

Ian laughs out loud. “Well, with a promise like that,” he jokes. It’s not entirely a joke. That is a good promise, and he knows without a doubt Mickey is going to follow through. If there’s one thing Mickey is wholly, unbelievably unashamed of, it’s his love of sucking Ian’s dick. It’s incredible.

“I’ll see you later,” Mickey says. He watches Ian for another minute, then he nods. “Bye…” He sighs and rolls his eyes and makes a face and says, “Honey?”

Ian can’t hold back his laughter. Mickey’s doing his best on the pet name front, but it’s really not working. All the normal pet names just sound ridiculous coming out of his mouth. At least half of it is because of the whole buildup he does every time. He acts like he’s facing a fire squad to call Ian _honey_. When it comes to _baby_ , he probably would _rather_ take on the firing squad.

“I don’t think that’s the one,” Ian says, nose wrinkled.

“I hate it,” Mickey agrees. “I’m never fucking saying it again.”

Ian steps back in to kiss him again, still laughing. “Have a good interview,” Ian tells him. “I know you’ll do great. You can fix any car. If you can keep Fiona’s car alive, you can do anything.”

Mickey smiles, a little bashful. “Thanks.”

“Bye,” Ian tells him. He starts walking into the building. He turns around and calls back to Mickey, “Lover.”

He’s expecting Mickey to groan and make a face. But Mickey tips his head and shrugs. “Not the worst,” he says. He grins a little and says, “I do love you, so it’s good.”

Well, Ian can’t leave _that_ statement without going back and punctuating it with a kiss. But then he laughs and pushes Mickey away and says, “Okay, I really have to go in now and you have to go to your interview.”

“Man, you’re the one who won’t stop kissing me,” Mickey says, pretending to be offended. “I’m fucking minding my own business and you’re all over me.”

“Okay, I’m so sorry,” Ian says, mock serious. “I will not attack you with unwanted kisses ever again.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, also faking seriousness. “That’s not gonna help us, though. Because I always want your fucking kisses.”

Ian snorts and shakes his head. “God, no one would ever believe how fucking _sappy_ you are.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Mickey says. “I can be fucking romantic when I want to be.”

Ian laughs, but his chest is all warm and fond. “Yeah, you can,” he says, not joking now. “Save it for later, okay?”

“Alright,” Mickey says. He gives Ian’s nose one last little nuzzle and then walks off backward. “I’m gonna go get some fucking health insurance so you can sleep at night. How’s that for romance?”

“Most romantic thing you could ever do for me,” Ian tells him, smiling so hard he can barely talk.

“Good _bye_ ,” Mickey says, all exasperated. “We can’t do this long fucking goodbye every time. Too fucking dramatic for me.” He’s the one walking backward so they can prolong this long, dramatic goodbye, but Ian doesn’t throw that in his face.

“Maybe in fifty years we’ll be sick of each other and can’t wait to get away,” Ian calls out to him.

Mickey shakes his head, giving Ian one of those soft smiles that’s just for him. “Doubt it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, either,” Ian says.

“I’m going now,” Mickey warns him.

“Go then!” Ian says with a laugh.

Mickey flips him off, then he turns around and leaves for real. Ian watches him go for a minute. Then he turns around and goes into the building. He listens while the leader gets the group started, and when it’s his turn, Ian introduces himself.

“Hi, I’m Ian,” he says nervously. “Um…I, uh. I have an eating disorder, I guess.” He swallows hard. There are people in the circle smiling encouragingly at him, and Ian relaxes a little. “I’m here because I want to get better,” he says.

“Hi, Ian,” people chorus back.

Ian settles back in his chair, and he lets out a long breath. He’s here. He’s doing this. And it’s all going to work out.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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